A Taste of Misery: A Decade of Torment
by catgirlutah
Summary: What happened after Jack was marooned on that godforsaken spit of land? Why did he choose when he did to find Bootstrap's only child? How did he meet AnaMaria? Why does he wear a bone in his hair?
1. Prologue: Cognac

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be writing this. Sorry.

AN (3/26): Lucky you. I've finally decided to put this story up. This is about what happened during those ten _Pearl-_less years Jack had. And its not going to make much sense for a while. There's going to be all sorts of flashbacks. In fact, I plan on having half of each chapter except for this one with flashbacks.

I hope you enjoy the prologue. I don't really like it...which is why it took me so long to decide to put this up on Shame on me. Anyway, please read and leave me a review. I like reviews. And I give out cookies to reviewers. Maybe Easter candy this time, though, since tomorrow is Easter. Don't you want a lovely chocolate bunny?

**Prologue: Cognac**

It was a noisy tavern. Brawls over women and ale made the atmosphere one of almost organized chaos as blows were exchanged and egos bruised. There was so much to see going on, actually, it was quite hard for anyone to concentrate. Especially if they'd never been in a tavern before. Of course, everyone had been in a tavern before unless they were filthy rich because taverns were the only place to gather new information. Newspapers were unreliable, not circulated, and not many could read them anyway. It was only natural that one of the best places to drink was one of the best places to spread the word of change or scandal or whatever.

There were two men sitting at a table in the tavern. They appeared to be companions of some sort, for they were speaking to each other on occasion and laughing about something every once in a while. One of the easiest places to find a new friend was taverns...of course, they'd known each other longer than that. "You really think that, eh?" one of the men questioned with an almost amused expression dancing in his dark brown kohl-lined eyes. His companion nodded slightly, completely comfortable with talking to a man that wore women's make up. That alone indicated they'd known each other for at _least _a week. Who could expect a man like Jack Sparrow to be normal, though? The kohl had distracted his companion at their first meeting...but he had inevitably gotten used to it and the trinkets littered in the infamous man's dark hair. He'd made quite the name for himself in the Mediterranean over the past two years. Rumors of his various excursions (one, apparently, with an African princess) with women and his daring exploits were all the rage to discuss in taverns across the vast internal sea's numerous ports. Especially in this tavern, since he was actually physically there. "Tha's interesting." Jack smirked lightly at his companion and prodded his shoulder with a finger wearing a silver ring with a green gem peering out at the world. "I really do think the wench is interested in ye, however. Why don' you at least say 'ello t' her?"

His companion suddenly looked quite pale as he glanced down at the mug of ale in his hands. Obviously he didn't mind telling Jack to go after another "conquest"...but how was he supposed to go talk to Aphrodite? It was like telling a newborn to walk, really, and getting mad at them when they merely cried. It was also quite hypocritical of him. But he could be a hypocrite. Everyone is at one time or another. "No thanks, Jack," he muttered almost darkly before taking a quick swill of ale. "She's more yer type."

"Now, mate, tha's where yer all wrong," Jack replied, glancing from his companion to the vision of beauty standing next to a table about fifteen feet away. She was a goddess, especially to eyes clouding over with the thrall of alcohol. Her hair was red like fire and pulled back to keep it off her tempting face and full lips. The woman's very voluptuous body was covered in an almost skin-tight blue number that showed all the right places off handsomely. Her milky white bosom contrasted rather sharply with the blue, as every man in the tavern had already noted. When she noticed Jack's eyes on her, she smiled temptingly, motioning her over with her tempting sapphire eyes. She was obviously in the mood for a companion tonight. However, Jack slowly shook his head and motioned towards his companion with his eyes. She didn't look away in disgust-always a good sign-and motioned for his companion to head over, though there was just the faintest hint of dismay visible in those eyes of hers as Jack glanced back at his slightly drunk companion. "She's no' me type at all. I prefer blondes." Well, that was quite a fallacy. Jack really had no preference with willing women. As long as they had mostly straight teeth and at least one alluring quality, Jack was more than willing to increase his reputation as a ladies' man for their sake. What woman could resist the devilish good looks and silky voice of Jack Sparrow when he was in the mood for a soft and willing companion for the night?

The man stared at Jack dumbly for moment and then sighed. His face was contorted in an awkward way as he tried to muster that hard earned courage necessary to go and talk to something so perfect and apparently refined. Now, Jack's companion wasn't entirely unattractive and out of the fiery strumpet's league. He had rather enchanting blue eyes that could captivate any but the most cruel women for hours on end. Of course, first he had to learn how to look at them in the eyes. His dark wavy locks were short and suited his oval face quite nicely. Obviously a working man, he had a tan face and almost permanent furrows from hard manual labor and thought (they were much more prominent at the moment because of the look of uncertainty and fear he was trying to conceal from Jack) and had calloused, strong hands. Fairly tall, he had yet to start filling out after his rapid growth sprouts from his tender teenaged years.

It was difficult to say who was older, Jack or the other gentleman. Jack had timeless good looks. He was the sort of man that could pass for age 20 at age 40 and had definitely been able to pass as age 40 at 20 (not that he'd wanted to). It was a good thing because it helped him seem just that much more unbelievable and helped people swallow his slightly embellished tales of his illustrious past like honey. How could a man with a definitive age actually escape from seven agents of the British East India Company, after all? His companion seemed to be in his early twenties, even though he did almost have permanent furrows on his brow. Age would not be kind to his companion...but he was in the prime of his life now. "Jus' go," Jack said, frowning slightly. "_Carpe Diem_."

His companion gulped slightly until Jack prodded him a bit harder on the shoulder. "All righ'. Bu' ye 'ave t' buy me a drink if she turns me down," the man muttered darkly, shakily standing up and weaving his way towards where the redhead stood. She seemed almost bored until he started talking to her.

Wow. It had worked. Jack grinned smugly to himself as his companion took a seat next to the vicarious redhead. "Some people," he sighed to himself, chuckling, "never learn. Obviously 'e's not some people." Content, he leaned his chair back against the wooden wall of the tavern and sat musing for a long while. Thoughts could be a lot more interesting than drunken conversations, after all. Though...those were funny. Jack figured he ought to keep his drunken musings to himself, though. The more people knew about him, the less mysterious he was. The less mysterious he was...well, people would ask him about his past.

He did not want to go there. Ever again. It had taken him five years to work up the courage to resume his piratical career after he'd been abandoned on that godforsaken spit of land. Even then, he'd had to have a fresh start on the other side of the world. Who needed the Caribbean, anyway? There...well, he had a very high chance of running into his former first mate. That would not be pretty. Jack liked to avoid conflicts at all costs, you see...

"Bonjour, monsieur," a seductive voice said dreamily as a pretty little number slipped into the now cold seat that had been vacated by the no-longer-nervous friend of Jack's. "Ça va?"

Jack smiled as he stopped his mind from wandering and glanced at the young lass. She was rather pretty, especially since she could speak in the language of love. Of course, they were visiting France at the moment. Captain Harvey had been sailing along the Mediterranean coast of France and Spain for the past few weeks...it was only reasonable that they stop here at least once. So, it made almost perfect sense that the woman sitting across from him could speak flawless French. Since Jack could speak the language admirably well, he could converse with her in her native tongue. Lovely. "Ça va bien...et tu?"

She smiled lightly and brushed a strand of her golden locks behind her ear. "I'm fine, Captain."

Jack's heart paused for a horrifying moment. How in the world did she know he was a captain? He surely hadn't told anyone over here...no. The memories he'd gotten from that island were much too harsh for him to lightly toss around the title captain. He'd been deposed, after all. Clearly he wasn't meant to be a captain. He couldn't argue with an evil man like Hector Barbossa. Word from the Caribbean said that the _Black Pearl _was a menace in the normally playful waters. Everyone was afraid to see those black sails Jack had loved so dearly...

That seemed like ages ago. "What?" he asked sharply, nearly knocking his drink off the small table. It was ages ago. No one should know that. He didn't even want to be reminded of the fact that being a captain wasn't for him.

She grinned mischievously. "I'm fine, _Captain _Sparrow." There was a seductive accent on the word Captain, there. Maybe she was from the Caribbean. But how did she speak French with such accuracy? They were conversing in that euphonic language, actually. Maybe she was from one of the French colonies in the Caribbean, but her accent was much too French for that to be the case. Moving away from the mother country tends to pollute the language into something else. Case in point, the general accent in a town like Nassau. Only the stuffy aristocracy spoke with a real English accent. The rest of the populace had a mishmash of different cultures influencing how they spoke and so didn't really have an accent that belonged anywhere but their little island.

"How do you know my name?" Jack asked softly this time, glancing anxiously from side to side to make sure that no one was listening.

"Everyone knows your name, Captain," she replied, a light smirk gracing her rather attractive features as she grabbed his mug of alcohol and took a quick drink. "At least, everyone who is anyone."

Jack smiled slightly as she began laughing at her odd little joke. This was seriously worrying him. No one was supposed to know who he really was...Captain Jack Sparrow did not exist any longer. He'd died on that godforsaken spit of land seven years ago. "Who are you?"

"No one of consequence, Captain," she replied softly. "Now, drink up, my sweet. It'll all be explained in due time." She smirked seductively and handed Jack a bottle of cognac. Which was very weird. Why would a woman who was probably a strumpet be carrying around a bottle of cognac? Especially when she was in a tavern and they didn't even serve something so fine here...

Jack smiled reflexively and slowly opened the bottle. If she was going to explain everything if he drank this, he'd probably even go through the hassle of drinking soap that had yet to solidify. Jack was dreadfully curious as to what this was all about. Upon her urging, he took a deep swill of the fine and expensive liquor. As he set the bottle of cognac back down, Jack felt the room start to spin as the sights and sounds and smells meshed together in a very unpleasant way...and then everything went black.


	2. Chapter One: Pig Blood and Silk

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be using these characters. Sorry. Can't get this published, either.

AN (3/27-3/28): Happy Easter! Or Spring Break. Whatever. Anyway, thanks for all the support an' encouragement! Gave me warm fuzzies.  
Now...the first half of this chapter should seem like a continuation of this chapter : http: read that first. It'll help, trust me. In fact, if you haven't read my first two fanfics about Jack's past, I suggest you do...it'll help you understand a lot of what all this is coming from, at first. Once I get into the groove, so to speak, it won't matter...but this one you really need to read that chapter first. Or you can just pretend you know what's going on. That might work too... I realize it is a lot, to read both of my earlier fanfics first, unless you already have. If I make a specific reference to one of the chapters, I'll probably put the link in these Author's Notes...  
Er...sorry this thing is so long. But I've decided to delve into the supernatural with this one. Tell me if you don't like it...and I'll rethink my ideas. But this supernatural stuff...completely from my head. Just so you know. If there's any problems with my logic, feel free to point them out.  
Oh...and this story doesn't coincide with history. Just because that causes a lot of problems. And the movie is wrong, anyway, about Port Royal. But that's okay...this is fiction. I do research, though. Which is why I know that this doesn't really all work. I don't know why I'm bringing this up...I mean, it doesn't matter that New Orleans was founded in 1718, does it?

**Chapter One: Pig Blood and Silk**

"_Jack Sparrow, eh?" Captain Swarthy questioned, his one dark eye full of curiosity, slight admiration, and slight worry. Why would a man like Captain Jack Sparrow be on their little island? Was there some sort of treasure hiding here? Maybe Jack would tell them that... Of course, based on the apathetic look on Jack's face, Captain Swarthy was willing to guess that he'd been really been marooned here on this godforsaken spit of land in the middle of nowhere, really. "What are you doin' on my island, Captain Sparrow?" The title of captain was earned only through a lot of work and wasn't something Swarthy tossed around lightly._

"_I've told you already," Jack replied with a slight frown. Couldn't the one eyed man get it through his bandana covered skull that he was marooned? It wasn't because of his choice. "They thought I'd be better off here...governor o' this little island." He sighed and glared at Swarthy for a moment. "It isn' Captain Sparrow, son. Tis merely Jack. Jack Sparrow. Don' you forget that."_

_Jack looked like he was about to walk away. Swarthy didn't want that to happen. Even if Jack didn't want to be a captain anymore, he'd be a valuable member of the _Albatross_'s crew. They needed another good deck hand that could possibly fill in as a navigator, anyway. They'd been short a man since a slight scuffle in Barbados that had resulted in the death of one of Swarthy's men. Swarthy sighed slightly, putting his gun into its holster on his belt. "Stop, son."_

_Jack frowned and turned slightly around. Why did this Swarthy fellow keep insisting on calling him son? It really didn't make any sense to the slightly insane man who had just barely been contemplating suicide before that ship had shown up. So what if he wanted revenge on Captain Hector Barbossa? It wasn't going to happen. Not now and not ever. Barbossa had outsmarted him in everything he'd ever tried to do, from Jack's perspective. It'd take years for Jack to save up enough money to get another crew, anyway... "What?" he asked belligerently, to the snickers of the fellow with stringy blonde hair that Swarthy had called Klaus a few moments ago. They couldn't actually be seriously thinking about taking him aboard their ship, right? He was a pirate that obviously wasn't good enough._

_Swarthy didn't seem to think so. He glanced towards his crew (turning his head so he could look at all of them to his left, since he had a blind spot there due to the fact he was wearing an eye patch), as though asking them what they would think. Klaus and a man with dark hair spilling into similarly colored eyes merely shrugged. They didn't care. Well, they'd make Jack's existence aboard the _Albatross_ a living nightmare, since he'd drunk half their cache...but he was the infamous Captain...er...Jack Sparrow. Anyone would be crazy not to offer him a job. "How would ye like t' get off this island o' yers?" Swarthy questioned as he turned back to face Jack._

_Jack put one of his index fingers up to his mouth and tapped it lightly for a moment, obviously in "deep" thought. Of course he wanted to get off this godforsaken spit of land! He didn't want to be governor of this island for the rest of his life. He didn't want to resort to using that one shot in the sole pistol Barbossa had given him. He wanted revenge. And, perhaps, with time, he could get revenge. "Under what conditions?" he asked warily, obviously not wanting anyone to realize how desperately he wanted the job. That always made a bad impression on people, after all. If you wanted something so badly you were willing to wear a dress and do a lap dance...well, people certainly would exploit you. Jack was never going to trust that people had good intentions, sometimes, ever again. Because they obviously didn't. His best friend in the world, Bootstrap Bill Turner, had betrayed him, after all. Just because of cowardice. He knew he would've gone crazy on this island, same as Jack. Bloody pirate._

"_Conditions?" Swarthy laughed and his men did too. "Well, ye jus' have t' agree to work on me crew for two years. Tha's not so bad, is it?" Two years. If Swarthy had two years to work on this Jack Sparrow...well, maybe he could turn the infamous pirate into an infamous rumrunner. Someone he could trust handing the _Albatross_ to when he decided to retire and look up that fine maiden again._

"_Wha' about..." Klaus seemed ready to say something, his dark eyes flashing eagerly and then in annoyance as the boatswain gave him a dirty look._

_Jack's eyebrows furrowed slightly at that cut off question; he would've liked to hear that. Maybe it was something important. Or maybe Klaus was just jealous. It wasn't very often that you could bargain your way off an island after drinking half of the desired merchandise, anyway. Ah well. He couldn't tell for sure, so he slowly nodded. "Fine. Tis a deal."_

"_Good," Swarthy replied with a grin, reaching out with his hand and shaking Jack's, to close the bargain, so to speak. "This should be very interesting." He'd be able to outrun more Navy ships, with Jack Sparrow on his ship. The man was quite remarkable...everyone knew about the time he'd escaped from seven agents of the British East India Company, after all._

* * *

"_You 'ave t' drink it," Klaus said, frowning. "Don' skimp out on us now, Jack." There were various nods of assent from the rest of the crew of the _Albatross_. Swarthy had sent Klaus and the boatswain back to the fine flute to retrieve the rest of the crew. Why? Well, Jack had to be initiated into their little circle of rum runners. He couldn't be allowed to join their little family if he didn't go through all the stupid things that made them feel like they belonged with one another._

_Not that what they were making him do was necessarily a stupid little thing. It was quite a stupid big thing, actually. He was sitting on the beach with the crew surrounding him, staring almost intrepidly at a large bonfire burning up a few of the now dead palm leaves the crew had scrounged up. Almost intrepidly, mind you. There was a slight glimmer of fear in his dark kohl-lined eyes as he glanced back down at the bottle in front of him. This was just too weird. He seemed puzzled for a long time, glancing in through the narrow neck at some very dark liquid that smelled...well, less than appetizing. "I do?" he questioned numbly._

"_Aye," Swarthy chimed in. "You do. Can't be a part of our crew unless ye do this." He smiled encouragingly, miming someone taking a drink. "No' that hard." The other men nodded as well. Something was rather curious about Swarthy's crew. They all seemed to have very similar dark brown eyes. Most of them wore their hair in different ways, but the majority had dark brown hair. And they were all about the same size. Jack really felt...strangely like he belonged with them. Because he had the same dark eyes. But it was still very unnerving. Especially since the substance they wanted him to drink smelled vaguely like pig blood._

_Jack sighed slightly and glanced back down at the bottle. It was a very good thing the sun had set hours ago, wasn't it? Otherwise he'd definitely not be able to muster enough stomach-power to swallow the whole thing, sans the bottle. Why? Well, it was an odd mixture of pig blood, rum (to make it go down easier), fingernails, fish eyes, chum, paprika, parsley, and various other ingredients that probably shouldn't be mentioned. It was a thick concoction that smelled absolutely horrible. In fact, when Klaus had placed it in front of him, Jack had nearly thrown up. It didn't help that he was still rather drunk from earlier this morning. Sighing, he picked the bottle up, pressed it to his lips, and quickly swallowed the contents without thinking about what he was swallowing too much. If he'd thought about it, he surely would've lost courage and would've been labeled a quitter. He didn't want that sort of label. Jack didn't like any labels, thank you very much, because he didn't think he was a bottle of wine or something. Of course, it was far worse to be labeled by people you have to work with. And Jack was eager to see if he could make friends with people again or not. His whole attitude towards life seemed to be brighter, now that he'd gotten over the fact that Barbossa had stolen his meaning of life and Bootstrap had stabbed him in the back. He was Jack Sparrow...he could get over it._

"_Spot on, mate!" Swarthy exclaimed as the rest of the crew applauded Jack's efforts. "I don' think I've ever seen anyone drink a whole bottle o' that. Definitely one of us."_

_Jack didn't really feel like one of them. He felt like losing the rum he'd been drinking over the past three days in lieu of food. Having a movement contrary to eating. He smiled very weakly, pressed a hand to his stomach, and passed out. Who could blame him, after all?_

* * *

"Who are you an' what have you done wiv me bloody rum?" Jack asked groggily, rubbing at something on his forehead. The slight pressure up there from a cold compress seemed to be pushing his head into the soft pillow his hair was splayed on like a spilled bottle of rum on some rich man's marble floor. He picked up a slightly damp cloth and tossed it to the side, desperately trying to open his eyes. What had happened? All he remembered was that girl...and that cognac. Bloody cognac. This was definitely the last time he had anything other than rum to drink. No other intoxicating drink could be trusted. 

"Calm down, Captain," a pleasantly seductive voice said, gently caressing his cheek. She was speaking in English now. Which was probably good. Jack doubted he'd be able to understand French at the moment. Or, maybe he was speaking in French and thought he was merely speaking in English. He didn't know. Nor did he want to know. But something about her voice made him very uneasy.

"Who are you?" Jack questioned softly, finally managing to open his dark eyes to stare at the lass with golden hair and an almost perfect smile complimented by plump lips. After focusing on her for a split second, he glanced around the room he was now in. There was a gentle swaying, now that he could concentrate, and Jack realized he was on someone's ship. In a rather nice cabin. There was a four poster bed (that he was laying on) and a few trinkets on a shelf that he could see. Of course, none of the trinkets were anything fragile. They'd be broken during any sort of storm, since they'd be tossed from their little homes like birds during a rainstorm and would hit the ground with a resounding thud that would undoubtedly indicate something fragile breaking, followed by a crash.

"No one of consequence," the woman replied with a laugh. Clearly she thought this whole situation was rather funny. Imagine, what would people say if they knew that the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow was as weak as a kitten in her bed?

Jack frowned. She clearly had the upper hand. For the moment. He'd always been one to quickly heal from injuries and he didn't doubt he'd be able to pull through this apparent drugging much faster than she could ever dream. Right? There couldn't have been something in that cognac that could outwit Jack Sparrow. Such a thing just wasn't possible. "Not funny," Jack replied sourly. "Who are you?"

The woman sighed slightly, pulling her finger away from Jack's cheek. "Fine." She sat up, straightening her unusually tight silk teal dress with one hand as the other reached for one of the posts of the four poster bed. "My name is Kerri Calder, if you must know."

Well, that didn't help Jack much. He'd never heard of a Kerri Calder. Or a Calder. Great. He'd been kidnaped by some rabid fan of his, hadn't he? That had always been Jack's worst nightmare, back in New Orleans. There was something he didn't want to think about. A messy conglomerate of too much to drink, one night, and a vain thought that perhaps it would be a good way to make money...ah well. "Nice name, luv...bu' what do you want with me?" Jack was getting desperate, here. He could barely move his arms, and this woman was just afraid to tell him her name? Shouldn't she be going on a long monologue about how glad she was to see him and then ask him to marry her or something stupid like that? That's what all the other women had wanted. Of course...none of the other women had known his real name and what his title had been. Curious.

"What do I want with you?" Kerri smiled slightly. "Well, if I told you know, it'd spoil all the fun, wouldn't it? Besides, it isn't really me who wants to talk to you. 'Twas just my job to get you here." She laughed and touched his cheek again. "No worries...the sedative will wear off in a bit. Just relax. Hum something to yourself."

Jack frowned slightly. Did she know what she was really saying, there? Probably not. Though, she did know more about him than he would really care for her to know about him. His past was just that-his. Curious that her name was Kerri, too. It didn't sound very French. Maybe it was her second language. Or her English father had been in France, fathered a child, and left. Jack doubted anyone would have the patience to stay with a woman that wouldn't just come out and say what was going on. It was annoying. Maybe that was just a hasty assumption...but Jack wasn't in the mood to care. He liked getting answers, when he woke up after being sedated.

"What? Don't think that's a good suggestion?" she asked teasingly. "Well...I'd love to keep you more company, Captain, but duty calls." She smirked lightly, giving him a kiss on the cheek before leaving him all by himself in a stranger's room.

Odd how he wasn't even restrained, wasn't it? Jack sighed softly to himself once she'd left. Great. He couldn't figure out why he was here just based off this bloody room. He had no idea if it was even a man or a woman who'd taken him captive. Of course, that didn't really matter...but still. It would be nice to know what he had in store. A lot of women could be seduced by this one half grin he'd perfected over the years. A lot. Jack had probably known more women than any other man in history. And he was only thirty-five. Still had the rest of his life to get to know women on an intimate basis. Of course, the problem with knowing so many women...well, he forgot a lot of their names. Which undoubtedly resulted in a lot of hands meeting his cheek. Of course, Jack was so used to women slapping him, he really didn't mind anymore. It wasn't like he was going to slap them back or something. Besides...it helped them move on, gave them a sense of closure. It was better than them thinking he had an affinity for men, too. Something about hearing their palm hitting his skin seemed to satisfy most women with romantic visions of themselves with Jack. Strumpets were just a service, after all, and Jack didn't like it when women thought that he thought that they were something special.

Frowning, he worked his way up to a sitting position, nearly sliding off the silk sheets at least five times. Why? Well, he'd been dressed in some silk clothes himself. Which was really odd. Someone had seen him without his clothes on without his knowledge. Now...if it was that Kerri woman, Jack really wouldn't mind...but...it was definitely an invasion of privacy. Stupid silk. Jack didn't like the feel of it next to his skin, anyway. People who wore silk on a regular basis were just expensive prostitutes or people trying to impress the upper crust. Both groups were individuals Jack would rather not associate with. Been there, done that. Not worth the amount of money you had to spend to stay on top.

What in the world was going on? Jack sat staring at a picture of some ocean scene for nearly half an hour before anyone entered the cabin again. It was someone else. This time, it was a brunette with just about as interesting a figure as the woman with golden hair had. Jack's attention shifted from the bland picture with far too many brush strokes to the woman in an instant. "You're sittin' up," she commented, as though surprised. In her delicate hands was a black tray with some delicious smelling chicken. Jack suddenly realized he was absolutely famished. How long had he been asleep, anyway?

"Aye," he replied with one of those almost trademarked half grins of his. They'd been the death of many a woman's virginity, actually. "I am."

The woman smiled back reflexively, slightly caught off guard by his suave manner. Most people she'd seen who'd been that heavily sedated...well, they didn't have much control of their mannerisms...or really anything. "Good." She seemed mad at herself for saying such a clearly flirtatious word and practically jammed the tray into his chest. "Here. Captain wants ye t' eat something."

Jack nodded, somehow relieved to hear the same sort of slur in her speech that he used in his own. Of course, now that he was in the Mediterranean, he had to tone it down a bit. People just couldn't understand him when he spoke that fast. "Ye sound like yer from 'round the Caribbean, luv," he commented, slowly scooping a portion of the chicken up to his mouth with his hand. He was a pirate and therefore didn't mind eating with his hands. As long as they seemed clean enough, it didn't bother him. Of course, if they were black or covered in tar or covered with blood, he washed and scrubbed them until they were pink...but Jack was reasonably sure they were clean enough to eat with.

"That'd be 'cause I am," she replied with a slight smile. "Born an' raised in Kingston, actually. Me parents moved me t' Tortuga when I was...well, a certain age." Meaning she'd been sold into prostitution by her mother and father. Of course, that sort of behavior was quite common. Daughters were considered a liability to the wealthy and the poor alike. The wealthy auctioned off their daughters at debutante balls...the poor sold them off into prostitution to try and earn some more money. If they were lucky, they could be married off. Obviously she hadn't been that lucky. Though, Jack suspected her parents had forced her into prostitution even though she probably had several suitors interested in her. A beautiful woman could make more money that way than by getting married.

"Ah," Jack replied. He hadn't really been expecting that much of a life history. But if this woman would open up to him...maybe he could figure out what was going on. Jack liked puzzles, of course, but not ones that could potentially indicate his immediate demise. "I see." He took another bite of the chicken. Once that was swallowed (which took a while...it was rather bland and needed some sort of drink to help push it down), Jack smiled at her again. "D' ye 'ave a name, luv? Or should I jus' refer to you as Kingston?"

She laughed lightly. "Oh...well, Captain, I wouldn' mind someone like you callin' me Kingston. Bu' we've met before. Surely ye can remember me name, eh?" Her dark eyes were twinkling with suppressed amusement as she tried to calmly watch Jack eat the chicken.

Jack frowned slightly. How was he supposed to remember women from the Caribbean? That'd been a while ago. He sighed slightly. Something about her did seem vaguely familiar. So, he guessed the first name that came to mind. "Paloma?"

She seemed rather surprised and a slightly incredulous look danced across the aforementioned dark eyes. "Yes. Paloma." The tone of her voice indicated that she was flattered Jack remembered her name. It was always good to flatter your captor, after all. Maybe the sense of danger Jack was getting was just false. "You remembered."

"Aye," Jack replied smoothly. That had been a very lucky guess, actually. "Thanks for bringin' me food, Paloma." He finished off the rest of his chicken in two bites. Obviously he had been rather hungry.

"Oh...twas nothin'," Paloma replied, shrugging slightly. Clearly she didn't really want to get into a conversation with Jack. She grabbed the now empty tray and left without saying anything else, leaving Jack to wonder what it was he'd done wrong. Women. They were definitely difficult creatures to understand.

**

* * *

Eccentric Banshee:** Yeah. Accepting drinks from pretty women...always ends up bad. Jack needs to get that through his thick skull. I think that maybe he has now. Just maybe. Dunno for sure...I'll have to ask him.  
AnaMaria isn't going to show up for another three years, actually. I just put that in the little description thingy because I didn't know what else to say. No...this woman had the wrong hair color. And, coincidentally, the wrong name. I like being mysterious. Uber fun. You should try it, ya know. Not that you don't already have cliffies and mysterious characters and stuff. I'm rambling. Tis late.  
The drinking soap thing was weird...that was me at about one in the morning, or something. Or maybe it was early in the morning...dunno. But thanks for the review! And have a chocolate bunny!  
**Rose Noire du Mort**: Unfortunately, it'll be a bit of a wait for Ana. But I will explain how Jack and Ana met before the movie. No worries. Just stick with me. I'll also explain how Jack and Gibbs meet. That should be interesting...  
Anywho, thanks for the review! I love getting new reviewers... As promised, you get a chocolate bunny. )  
**CrazyPirateGirl**: As long as it isn't as confusing as Death of a Blacksmith, I think we'll be okay. Speaking of that...I need to finish that sometime, don't I? Too bad I'm so lazy...  
Anyway (sorry for the rambling, tis really the day after Easter at the moment), thanks for the review. And the encouragement. I'm actually dreadfully insecure about my writing...which is why I waited about a week to put up the prologue. But I typed this all up in one night. Today. Or, rather, yesterday. And I'm rambling again. Have a chocolate bunny!  
**Mystic Moon Maiden:** Apparently I could update today. Two days later. But not really. Silly time...it should be yesterday, but it isn't. And I'm probably freaking you out...er...right.  
Thank you for the encouragement! And for the review. I don't think many people have attempted to explain what happened to Jack during those ten years he didn't have the Pearl. This should be interesting...I've got a lot of cool things planned. And explanations. More of those. Like...the scars on his chest. Anyway, if you like this, you'll hopefully like its two predecessors: _From Anonymity to Infamy: Jack Sparrow's Tale _and _The Emerald Eyes: A Tale of Mutiny._ If you need a long read to distract you from...er...homework, you might want to consider those. Of course, I think you'll be able to mostly understand what I'm writing in this one without reading those two.  
Glad you enjoyed it, an' have a chocolate bunny!  
**Raisin**: I like writing. I do it all the time. Got an idea for this in English class, I think. Maybe not. I can't really remember. It doesn't matter. But I've been talking to my posters for inspiration, and I think I've got most of this figured out. I've even got a time line. And a few web sites favorited (I think that should be a word) for future reference. It'll be interesting. And weird. I likes me weird things...  
I've seen the tail end of From Hell, actually...I vaguely remember a redhead. But no. That's not who she is. But the men...in the flashback, should all seem very familiar. I've got a twisted sense of humor. Anyway...  
Thank you oh so much for another entertaining review! You're a great inspiration to me. In fact, if you hadn't started reviewing my stuff, I might've just updated once a month or something. Which would be sad...I need this, to fuel my obsession until the next movie comes out. And then I'll find out I'm wrong on a lot of things. But that's okay.  
Have a chocolate bunny! Filled with...umm...whatever sort of filling you like best.  
**Daisy**: The cognac was drugged. How did you ever guess? -giggles- Just kidding.  
As for the person...well...the redhead will probably be in the next chapter. And I bet you can guess who she is. And probably why she's had Jack...er...I'm giving away too much. -giggles- Remind me not to answer these so late at night.  
Betcha know what he was thinking about, with New Orleans, already. If not, well, I'll have to hit you. Because you, of all people, should know. In advance.  
A receipt from Mary Riley Styles Public Library is actually a pretty good prize. -nods- I hope you feel better, though. Because cramps bite pickles, lemons, and Big Macs.  
You get...er...a snazzy Pez dispenser!  
**Kess**: Was this fast enough? Wow...I feel like I haven't talked to you for a long time. Probably because I haven't. Sorry 'bout that. I'm a horrible person, really, I am.  
Thanks for your support, though. I'll try to be on more often. -nods- You get a...really yummy chocolate egg and some peeps!  
**Jack**: Actually, you should be wondering what sort of trouble he's already gotten himself into, in the Mediterranean. At least, that's the way the time line is now. It'll probably change, over the next few hours...  
Thank you for the review! Since you were the first one to review...well, you get my Easter Basket! It has all sorts of candy, chocolate, peeps...fake grass...and Finding Neverland! 


	3. Chapter Two: A Ritual and a Redhead

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be writing this, sorry.

AN (3/31): Well, I didn't die at the stupid Sterling Scholar thing last night. I am brain dead, though. No worries. I usually write my best stuff when I can't think.  
(4/2): I had a hard time typing this chapter up, actually. I'm no good at making this occult stuff up... Therefore, not a single word about this whole ritual is true. Though, I did find some interesting information on calling Beelzebub...  
Oh...and as for the rename on the story...well, I realized why that title seemed so familiar. But I added stuff on to it to make it my own title. -nods-  
Anyone interested in learning more about the redhead should read in From Anonymity to Infamy: Jack Sparrow's Tale. The chapters that deal with her start with the one labeled with her name, obviously...

**Chapter Two: A Ritual and a Redhead**

"_Jack, may I 'ave a word with you?" Captain Swarthy asked as the _Albatross_ pulled into the harbor in the Straits of Singapore near the small trading post of the British East India Company known as Singapore. It was an exotic island where all sorts of trade took place between the Western influences of Britain, France, Spain, and other European countries and the Eastern countries of India, China, Singapore, and all the other countries under the rule of the dreaded British East India Company. Gigantic East Indiamen roamed the seas around Singapore, protecting British interests against pirates and warships of other nations. _

_Swarthy had no intention of meeting up with any of those ships. No...he was busy trying to stay mostly anonymous. Under Jack's urging in the Caribbean, Swarthy had actually resorted to piracy and had plundered a lugger that was carrying contraband material. Now he was carrying the illegal opium. Not that it was illegal to sell and trade opium. No...the British enjoyed giving opium to people in China to help them decide the British weren't so bad. But it was illegal for Swarthy to be carrying it since he had no license. That was why they were in Singapore. Swarthy had a few friends that had come out this way that would help him disguise the fact he shouldn't be selling the drug._

_Jack slowly nodded, tying a quick knot into the rope he'd been working with before turning to go to speak to his captain. Jack had a feeling he was going to get in trouble for convincing Swarthy to go after that ship...but he had missed piracy. And he'd proved to himself that he could still manage it, even though it had been a month since Barbossa had left him on that island to die. Now that Jack was sure of that, he was more than happy to continue his contract under Swarthy for the next year or so, since, in fact, it had been a two year contract. Being a rumrunner wasn't too bad. It was only unfortunate that he couldn't taste the wares very often..._

_Swarthy smiled very faintly, opening the door with his right hand. That made Jack feel an uncomfortable twinge of guilt. Why? Well, Swarthy had lost his left hand during their epic battle with that lugger. Now he had to wear a hook so he could still function as captain. Jack really thought it added to Swarthy's overall image of being a tough captain that wouldn't let you say no to one of his orders. And Swarthy apparently thought the same thing himself. One of his new favorite pastimes was to clean his hook until it shined. It'd taken him a while to get used to using the hook...but Swarthy was a fast learner and hadn't bothered reprimanding Jack for his foolish decision that had made him lose a hand._

_Apparently Jack's time was at hand, though. The smile on Swarthy's face had been very serious indeed. Jack didn't like having serious discussions with people anymore. They hardly ever turned out favorable. At least in his opinion. Jack smiled very faintly in response and stepped into the captain's quarters. This wasn't the first time he'd been in the room where Swarthy lived...but it was certainly the first time he'd been apprehensive, upon entering the almost cheerful room._

_Swarthy liked showing off how much money he had. As a result, everything was so blatantly ostentatious that it gave the appearance of being anything but ostentatious. Just funny. And relaxing. Jack could see why Swarthy enjoyed entertaining his most trusted crew members inside. Maybe he'd have to do something similar, if he ever got the _Pearl_ back. He probably wouldn't...but it was an idea._

_Swarthy motioned Jack over to one of his robin egg blue armchairs sitting next to a small table across from his comfortable-looking bed. "Take a seat, boy. I've got a few things t' discuss wiv ye."_

_Jack nodded and walked over to one of the indicated chair, slowly taking a seat as he watched Swarthy close the door and sit across from him. Great. The door was closed. Another bad sign. Swarthy hardly ever closed the door unless he was discussing something of particular importance he didn't want his crew to overhear. Generally that included his ranting and raving at his crew at their poor performances. Swarthy wasn't one to reprimand in front of others. It seemed...well, rude. "So...wha' is it?" Jack asked as Swarthy sat there, apparently thinking._

_Swarthy jumped slightly, gripping his armrest with his right hand so much his knuckles were quite white. "D' you remember what happened on that island, son?"_

_Jack slowly shook his head, slightly annoyed still at Swarthy's persistent insistence on calling him 'son'. They really were practically the same age, after all. "No' really, Captain. All pretty much a blur, af'er the drink o' tha' vile concoction ye thought would be funny t' make me drink."_

_Swarthy sighed slightly, tapping his left foot against the rug on his floor. The boot normally would've made a tapping noise to accompany the movement, but the rug absorbed all of the sound. It was only a light tap, after all. "Well...more happened there...I think I should tell you about it."_

_More happened there? Jack's eyebrows quirked slightly as he asked, "Wha' happened?" He was instantly suspicious for good reason. All he could remember was passing out and then could briefly remember seeing the men sitting around him in a pentagon...or maybe it had been a circle. He wasn't sure. Swarthy had been drawing something in the sand, regardless._

_Swarthy looked down at his hook for a moment, clearly collecting his thoughts. This would be something difficult to follow, if it took someone like Swarthy a minute to gather thoughts. Or maybe he was just ashamed of what he'd done to Jack. "After...well, after ye 'ad the ceremonial pig blood an' whatnot, we drew a pentagon around ye. Ye see...well, in ancient Druid legend, there's a particular spell tha' gives men near invulnerability. Since you were t' be part of the crew, we thought it bes' t' give you the same gift we've all been given. It involves pig blood, fingernails, fish eyes, chum, paprika, parsley, yellow bile, an' rum. T' make it go down a bit easier. Anyway, once the person drinks tha'...they fall into a trance. As the person is in the trance, the other people who've already been initiated form a pentagon an' someone draws patterns in the sand. When ye wake up...well, presto! Yer nearly invincible."_

"_Nearly invincible? How can ye be nearly invincible?" Jack questioned, clearly slightly wounded that it had taken Swarthy this long to tell him. And why hadn't he realized it was a bloody ritual? He'd just thought it was some sort of initiation or something._

* * *

Jack was left waiting in that cabin for nearly an hour before someone else entered it. He was getting sick of staring at that obviously fake picture of the sea. The way it was painted made Jack think that the artist had never actually taken time to contemplate the sea and how vital she was to human survival. And how cruel she could be. Jack had been through a lot of storms in his life as the sea had tried to show him who was boss. He already knew that she reigned supreme. He regarded the islands that infested her perfect skins as horrible scars and scabs, actually. Tried to put himself in the sea's place. It was an impossible goal, to be certain, but Jack often accomplished the impossible if he set his mind to it. He had this uncanny knack to escape almost certain death... 

"Well well well," a sultry voice said, stepping into the cabin. "Enjoying my cabin, are we, Captain Sparrow?" With the voice came the very beautiful redhead that had been entertaining Jack's friend, when he'd been abducted by that Kerri woman. Something about her voluptuous figure was very familiar to Jack. Her perfectly symmetrical face was one he'd seen even before the incident in the tavern, actually. Pity he couldn't remember those blue eyes that changed moods like the sea changed temperament during foul and fair weather. She shook her head lightly, her hair dancing in the faint light coming in through a window. "Well, dear Captain, it is quite dark in here. Perhaps I should light a few candles..."

Jack watched as she went around the cabin quickly and lit several candles. Obviously this was her cabin because she knew her way around. Plus, she had said it was her cabin. Was this the captain of the vessel? Was everyone aboard here women? Not that Jack was about to complain, mind you. A ship full of women would certainly be something to investigate. He'd have to have interviews with every woman...from captain to deck hand. "Who are you an' wha' d' ye want with me?" he asked finally as she finished with the last candle near the doorway.

"Why, Captain, I thought you would remember," she replied with a slight smile. "I mean...you did once know me. Maybe you've just been through so many women I have to spark your memory..." She smiled seductively, brushing her hair back behind her ears as she slowly started taking off her sensible dress that probably wouldn't get caught very often in the rigging. As she removed it and stood in her underdress, she stepped towards the bed where Jack was having a very hard time not falling off the sheets again. Undressing...for him? Boy. He'd be crazy not to get excited for such a well proportioned woman taking her clothes off for him.

It didn't spark any memories, though, and she stopped next to the far corner of her bed. Clearly she didn't intend on stripping off the underdress. Yet. Or so Jack hoped and prayed.

"No?" she questioned softly, sighing slightly. "Oh...that's right. You never did see me with my clothes off, did you?" She laughed almost bitterly and took a seat on the bed. "Not that I really wanted you to. Then."

"An' you do now?" Jack questioned, clearly not following what she was saying. Surely he'd seen every beautiful woman he'd ever met without her clothes on...he could...oh. Wait. Pâquerette. That bloody French pirate's daughter. He never had seen her undressed. If she'd really wanted to spark his memory, she really should've just spit. That girl had been very good at spitting, if Jack remembered correctly. And good with a sword. It was no wonder she was her own captain now.

Pâquerette must've been able to tell that he recognized her now, because she smiled lightly. "I do now, actually, Captain Sparrow." She slowly got up on the bed on her knees and then leaned over on top of him, giving him a kiss...

Well, it was a kiss that Jack certainly hadn't been expecting. "I want to get to know every inch of your body," she whispered in his ear. "I want you to please me. Because I think only you can save me."

What exactly did she mean by save her? Jack saw no possible way that spending quality time with her could save her...yet...that kiss. Wow. He hadn't been kissed like that ever. Especially not by a beautiful woman who'd rejected him before. Or...wait...hadn't he rejected her before? Why was he willing to do what she wanted? Jack couldn't resist, though, and therefore leaned up slightly to kiss her back. "Well, if only I can..."

Pâquerette smiled and kissed him back. "You'll be more than happy to oblige, right, Captain?" she asked, clearly relieved. Or maybe just impassioned. Jack was going to think she was merely impassioned, for she kissed him again and started taking his silk pajamas off. Something that Jack was glad happened because he was sick of sliding around...

* * *

Jack woke up the next morning, feeling completely content with the world. Who wouldn't? He'd just spent a very memorable night with a beautiful woman. It hadn't even bothered him, that her teeth were crooked. It had bothered him when he'd been younger, yes, but he'd since learned not to be so picky with his women. Hardly anyone was perfect, after all. He even had some bad habits. 

Yawning and stretching, Jack looked over to where Pâquerette should've been. She wasn't there. He started to sit up when he felt a cold hard pistol pointed at his heart. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Sparrow," a voice hissed. "Lay back down, you miserable fool."

Jack willingly obliged. It wasn't as though he had a choice in the matter. Once he was laying back down, he glared up at this new woman. Probably a member of Pâquerette's crew. "What do you want from me?" he asked with an exasperated sigh.

The woman sighed slightly, still holding the gun to his chest. "You're an imbecile, Sparrow. Honestly." She was a very attractive woman as well. Dark hair and dark eyes made her seem that much more mysterious. She was dressed in men's clothes, though they seemed specially tailored to her body and were an uncharacteristic black color. She knew her place in life, that much Jack could tell. And she probably worked outside most of the time, for her face was tanned with both sun and hard work.

"I won' dispute that," Jack replied, staring at the gun and then back into her dark eyes. "Bu' I'd like t' know why you think I'm an imbecile, if possible." He smiled faintly, using his characteristic half grin to try and put her more at ease. He'd rather not die right now...

"What should I start with?" she asked with a sarcastic chuckle. "So many qualities make you an oaf." She smiled slightly and lowered the gun. From his heart, at least, down to his navel. He might be able to survive that. Probably would, knowing his luck.

"Well...I guess ye can start wiv why you're pointing that gun at me in the first place," Jack responded, desperately trying to keep her looking in his eyes rather than down at his navel. Which was bare, mind you. But...if she looked in his eyes, she'd be less likely to kill him. Which is always a good thing, not being killed. He wasn't ready to die. Or be shot at point blank range.

She sighed slightly, still clearly not sure as to what to start with. "Well, for starters, Sparrow, you've slept with your enemy."

"Isn' it good for me t' make her me friend?" Jack queried before she could continue. "I mean...I swear I've 'eard tha' you're supposed t' love your enemies."

"Not in that context, Sparrow," she replied with a disgusted look on her face. "Think about it, Jack. You killed her brother and made her father so depressed he committed suicide. She hates you, with good reason."

"But...she was the one.." Jack started lamely, clearly surprised that this woman knew so much information. Sure, he'd killed her brother, but her brother had tried to poison him. So it all worked out in the end, didn't it? And it wasn't his fault that the Pirate Jouer didn't have the heart to go after more gold.

"That started it?" she guessed. Laughing, she shook her head. "Goodness, Sparrow, you really are an oaf! I'd heard you were more intelligent than this. She's using you."

"For what?" Jack asked, clearly confused. As some sort of sexual toy? Well, Jack didn't exactly want to be used like that. Of course, it had been amazing...

She seemed to know what he was thinking because she rolled her dark eyes slightly and put her pistol back in its holster riding on her shapely hips. "I can't tell you that yet. She'll be back in a moment. Please try not to sleep with her again." She seemed to plead...which was very attractive, on her face. Her lower lip was particularly full when she was pleading. Her dark eyes were also full of warning and concern. It really was quite touching, actually, and Jack felt honored. He should've found this ship years ago...

"Well...maybe if ye tell me yer name, I'll trust you." For no reason whatsoever. Of course, Jack wasn't going to add that. She was probably just jealous that her captain was spending time with a man as infamous as Jack Sparrow. Jack couldn't afford to think she was right until he gathered more evidence from that red haired goddess with slightly crooked teeth.

"Diane," she responded quickly. "And don't you dare think I'm making this up. Captain hasn't talked to me about anything else...she's going to get revenge on you, Sparrow. Watch out." Bowing slightly, she left the cabin without another word.

Jack frowned slightly, glaring at the door as though it was the door's fault. Why did all these beautiful women think they had to leave so fast? He really would like to get to know most of them more. Sure, Diane had placed a slight grain of worry in his mind...but he might as well enjoy what he had while he had it, right?

His gaze turned back to that boring picture of the sea on the wall. That was strange...there seemed to be a ship appearing there. On the left side of the picture, Jack could almost actually see the bow of a ship approaching. He must've been imagining it, for it disappeared as soon as the door opened again. In stepped Pâquerette...and a repeat of last night ensued.

**

* * *

Raisin**: Well, Barbossa did kind of decide to maroon Jack on that island as they neared it, actually. And it was on the way to the dreaded island that cannot be found unless you know where it is. Did I ever explain who gave those coordinates to Jack? And where they were from? I don't think I did...hmmm...maybe I never will.  
Anyway...yeah, I know where Captain Swarthy is from, actually. That's why he has only one eye. And a hook. And two scars. My bit of humor. That Klaus fellow is Mort from Secret Window. And the whole crew is different reincarnations of Johnny's characters...just a bit of odd humor I threw into The Emerald Eyes: A Tale of Mutiny.  
Chic is a very cool word! I'll have to use it sometime...chic and savvy wardrobe, there. Very snazzy ensemble.  
I keep adding a lot of female characters, don't I? My favorite would have to be Diane, though. 'Cause she's so cool and gets to call Jack names... As for Pâquerette, well, you might want to read the aforementioned chapter in the Author's note. It won't let me post any stupid links, I guess...gah. Anyway...you don't have to if you don't want to.  
Actually, the flashbacks are to when he was with Swarthy. The women and the ship thing is happening in the present. Or, rather, what I've decided is the present in Jack's past. -giggles-  
He's getting the _Pearl_ back when he's thirty-eight, actually. I've decided to be a bit lenient on his age...mostly because I'm making Will and Elizabeth 18, respectively. I might change that so that Will is older...but probably not. Will was born when Jack was 20, in my previous stories...so, yeah. And I've seen people who think he's only 25. Those goobers...  
Anyway, I lurved the review! And thanks for the See's Candies certificate!  
**CrazyPirateGirl: **Well, that stuff was nasty. The Dark Arts never are a good thing, after all... Death of a Blacksmith is very confusing. If I continued to work on it, it wouldn't be so confusing (because Death of a Salesman is confusing too)...but I got bored. And moved on. I'm glad that this new form of flashbacking isn't too confusing...because its going to be fairly consistent. There's a lot of things I have to cover. I actually have a time line. I think I've told you that before...anyway, thanks for the review!  
**sunkist3208 **: Aye, someone drugs him...and carries him away. That's always been my goal, to drug Jack Sparrow and to drag him away...and keep him forever an' ever...  
-giggles- Not really. But I have wanted to call him an imbecile once or twice.  
You were right about the redhead. And Anamaria...yes, she was that little slave girl. But do you really expect her to stay in servitude her whole life? We won't run into her for quite a while, though...Thanks for the review!  
**Jack: **Two copies is just as good. -nod- And thanks for the review! He didn't trust Kerri, of course, since she'd drugged him...  
**Daisy**: I know you're not daft and I knew you'd get the reference to New Orleans. I'm actually going to put that in, believe you me. Once I get this whole thing settled with Swarthy. Anyway, thanks for the review! And good luck on your hectic week that's now over!  
**borne-shadow-childe:** Yep, he remembered Paloma's name. That is rather cool. Wish he'd remember my name...thanks for the review!  
**Ravynette**: I am too horrible. -nods- I hope to talk to you too. And I hope you stop getting grounded so much...  
**Mystic Moon Maiden: **I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter...it was quite fun to write, actually. As was this one. Imagine, Jack being on a ship with only women aboard...definitely his fantasy. If I get a chance, I'll check out yours. I'm a busy bee, so to speak...so I'm not going to promise anything (I'm a senior in High School with 4 AP classes)...but I will try.  
Since you were the first to leave a review...you get a snazzy picture of a tree my brother Jeff painted for me! Yay! 


	4. Chapter Three: New Orleans and Mysteriou...

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to write this.

AN (4/19): Sorry for the long delay. I've been…well, a goober. And I have senioritis. Really badly. I haven't wanted to do anything. But I've decided to at least get this started to maybe get rid of my writer's block.

AN (4/21): Er...sorry about the odd title.

**Chapter Three: New Orleans and Mysterious Clothes**

_Nearly invincible. Jack had to admit that phrase had been bothering him for the past year. Why? Well, he couldn't very well test out that claim. If he tested that claim out on purpose and Swarthy had been lying, he definitely would end up dead. Jack seemed to have the worst sort of luck, lately. Ever since that night he'd sacked Nassau. It was disgusting, the way people talked about that. They seemed to think that he'd done it without firing any shots or spilling hardly any blood. Ridiculous. If Jack had been in the Caribbean when those rumors had started, he would've squashed them and would have claimed that Barbossa had been the one to suggest it. Barbossa deserved the credit, right? He was clearly a better pirate because his crew hadn't mutinied._

_Upon coming back to the Caribbean, Jack learned that perhaps all was not well with Barbossa. Whispers of an almost nameless evil seemed to be just lurking on the lips of even the most tempting strumpets. Stories of slaughter were talked about in hushed tones in even the most "civilized" homes. Of course, Jack wouldn't know anything about the upper crust talking about Barbossa's evil, right? It wasn't as though he ever wanted to wear anything but simple pants, a slightly dirty shirt, and maybe a vest once in a while. It was too stuffy, being what was considered normal. If you were going to be just as smelly either way (people had a serious aversion to bathing), why not enjoy yourself?_

_Though he had yet to actually test Swarthy's statement, Jack seemed to be taking bigger risks than he'd ever taken before. For example, in Singapore, he'd had a riotous time visiting brothels, taverns, and opium houses getting into all sorts of brawls and disputes over women and rum. Why? Well, there really was nothing better to do. Swarthy had stayed in Singapore for nearly a month and Jack had gotten tired of the same old routine. What was the point of staying loyal to a dead person's memory? Meagan wouldn't know if he was having a good time or not, just like no one would really know what had happened in Nassau. There was no point in staying loyal to her memory. People died all the time. She was dead; Jack was over it. Right?_

_It had taken him a while to get used to strumpets again. They had such a coarse manner, after all, especially in Singapore. It was clear that those women knew how to display their assets well and were good at exciting even men of the other persuasion, though Jack was always anxious to stay away from such men (they had a nasty habit of following him around like many women did). It wasn't all that hard for Jack to realize he wanted women again. He hungered for them just like he hungered for life, rum, and the pursuit of all things piratical. Celibacy surely was overrated and those Catholic priests had no idea what they were missing (assuming they were good priests)._

_Jack was currently in New Orleans. It was a very cultured town, even though it was relatively new. French culture was everywhere. The Cajuns and Creoles gave their own spice to the fledgling city. A grand opera house stood on Bourbon Street. Every time Jack walked past, he seemed almost enthralled by the dulcet tones he could hear from there. Though Jack would never admit it, he really had quite a soft spot for singing. He enjoyed singing almost as much as he enjoyed listening to a beautiful soprano hit every note perfectly as a story unfolded. Opera could be very soothing, if you let it be. And going to the opera house the one time his family had visited England had been the only good memory he had of his past, actually. His father had laughed at him for being so entranced by those sirens; his mother had been very confused; but Jack had actually behaved, in an attempt to go to hear those women again. Unfortunately, his father made a rash decision to go back to the Caribbean once it started raining. He said it would snow, even though it was the middle of May._

_Jack really hadn't forgiven his father for that. Of course, there were a lot of things he'd never forgive his father for, so there was no use singling that one out. He still had that odd appreciation for opera and operetta and theater, in general. Being a pirate, however, he couldn't very well attend any shows. That would just be too weird.  
__  
Yet…now he was under no contract. He was his own man. And he could go to the opera and appreciate it, in some sort of disguise or something, right? No one would ever know that Jack Sparrow was going to visit the opera house tonight. No one in New Orleans knew who he was, anyway._

_Humming softly to himself as he strolled along the beach, staring out at the water, Jack was in an oddly contemplative mood. His inside seemed to be fighting with his outside for having the audacity to forget what being a pirate was, even if it was just for one night, to visit an opera house. But Jack really wanted to. It was a better way to spend money than on the women in the drab house that already knew his name and his preferences. They seemed to sense the inevitable truth: he was running out of money. That's what happens when you're a pirate. You can never stop plundering because money seemed to always be slipping through your fingers. It didn't help that Jack had lost all of his savings when he'd lost the _Black Pearl_. He needed a way to make money, desperately. And yet…he was going to spend the rest of what he had in his pocket by going to the opera. Perhaps he could steal some unsuspecting patron's money. Those rich individuals who attended the opera were sure to have some money, right?_

_Jack desperately needed doubloons and even just pieces of eight. He was trying to save up for a ship and a crew to go after the _Pearl_. Revenge would be the best medicine for his anguished and tired soul, right? When he was captain of the _Pearl_ again, everything would be all right. He could plunder to his heart's content…and he'd be able to get into his very secret stash of money hiding almost in plain sight. Hopefully…well, Barbossa probably hadn't been told by Calico Jack about that, right?_

_Regardless, it really was time for him to go. Shaking his head in an attempt to get rid of the thousands of angry flies swarming inside his head, Jack brushed a few imagined pieces of sand off his nicest pair of clothes and started swaggering his way towards the opera house. Thankfully, not many people could remember that Captain Jack Sparrow couldn't walk straight unless they'd known him. And if they knew him, they'd now know that he wasn't a captain anymore and probably didn't want to talk to him._

* * *

"Why am I here?" Jack asked suddenly one day as Pâquerette sat next to him on the bed, slowly massaging his chest. They'd been spending a lot of time with each other. Truthfully, Jack was getting quite sick of it all. Sure, Pâquerette was a beautiful woman, and sure, he wasn't about to complain about the nights they spent together…but it was dreadfully monotonous. She locked her cabin door during the day now. Jack was fairly sure it was to keep Diane and other members of her crew out. He didn't know for sure, of course, but suspicion in a "relationship" is never a good thing. The redhead now fed him herself every day, when she remembered. She seemed to be the perfect companion for him; neither of them wanted a serious relationship. 

Yet, now whenever Pâquerette was with him (intimately) it seemed…different. Almost like she had something sinister in mind. What Diane had said really was getting to Jack. What if he was being used? What if the captain of this (from what Jack had gathered) all-female crew was slowly poisoning him? It was a distinct possibility. Poison has been used for ages to dispose of people in a fairly inconspicuous way. A few Popes of yore had even used poison to take people's property and to keep their power absolute. Pâquerette could be slipping arsenic into his food, for all he knew. Of course, Jack didn't feel any weaker. But…this was seriously starting to confuse him. Why would he be kidnaped to be a man toy? Didn't Pâquerette want his help sailing or something?

Pâquerette glanced into his dark eyes for a moment, apparently a little hurt that he'd asked such a question. "Haven't you been perfectly content, my Sparrow?" she cooed, leaning over him and kissing his cheek.

Jack frowned slightly. This is always what she did. When he wanted to discuss something important, she would kiss him. Or drag him down to the bed. Just last night, he'd tried slipping out of bed without her noticing (so he could have a quick look around before she awoke, of course). She'd caught him and had seemed quite angry with him for a moment before distracting him in a way that always seemed to work. Not this time. Jack would not be distracted by the promise of intimacy. He pulled away, scooting along the rather comfortable bed as fast as he could. Just to distance himself from the oft-times rough redhead. Maybe he could think clearly without her tongue in his mouth. "Well…I suppose so. But why?"

Pâquerette sighed heavily and swore softly. She didn't want to answer this question. It had taken him quite a while to get around to asking it, though, so why should she complain? "Isn't it obvious, Sparrow?" she nearly spat out of her mouth, her slightly crooked teeth seeming to glare at Jack as he stared at her. Where had all the bitterness come from?

"If it was obvious, I wouldn't be asking," Jack responded quickly, trying to keep the sudden awareness of his stupidity to hit really hard. Jack now realized he was being used. A man toy. But for what purpose? Was Pâquerette merely trying to pleasure him to death? Was she trying to keep him from getting a ship? Was she trying to kill him and have a little fun along the way? Why?

She shrugged her affirmation in a way that could be construed that she didn't really think that was the case. It had to be obvious. How could Jack be so blind? She sighed, slowly getting up off the bed and standing next to it. "I'm not at liberty to disclose that yet, Sparrow."

"Why not?" Jack asked, very much aware of the fact that she was threatening to leave. She only stayed in her cabin if she was on the bed. That's the way it had been working.

"It'd take all the fun out of our relationship," was her simple reply as she pulled her dress back on over her head. "Sparrow, questions are dangerous." She pouted for a moment as she stood at her cabin door, staring at Jack with a mixture of hatred and slight pity in her sparkling blue eyes. She stared at him for nearly half a minute before leaving the room.

Jack caught that warning clearly. He was probably in for a rather long and boring ride, now. Why did he have to open his big mouth? The same activity each night was better than nothing…

* * *

"Up," Pâquerette barked, stepping into her cabin. She was dressed in men's clothing today. Very tight and revealing men's clothing, rather than some of the outfits women pretending to be men wear. She obviously had nothing to hide. "Get dressed." 

Jack stifled a yawn as he did as she demanded. He'd been having the most pleasant dream, actually. The _Black Pearl_ had been his again, and he was sailing off towards the horizon littered with scantily clad women bearing fruit. But dreams were useless, weren't they? They ended immediately when you woke up, even if you didn't want them to. Grasping onto dreams was like trying to climb a waterfall by using the water as a ladder. It just didn't work. No matter how much your subconscious wanted something, it didn't work out in real life without effort. Once dressed, he arched one of his eyebrows and looked at her curiously. "What is it tha' you want?"

"Come on, Sparrow," she growled, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the door. "No more funny business."

Jack wasn't about to do anything that could be deemed "funny". She was taking him outside of her cabin! How exciting was that? In the month (as far as Jack could figure) he'd been aboard this ship, he hadn't seen anything but this room and Pâquerette and a few crew members. He was going to taste the sun again! The thought seemed to warm him from the inside, even though it was the middle of the night at the moment. Maybe she was sick of having him prisoner. He certainly looked as though he'd learned his lesson. He was no longer the nice even tan color he'd been when he'd had that drugged cognac. There was an unhealthy white glow to his skin and he looked almost as though he hadn't eaten anything in a week. Well, that was the case, since Pâquerette had stopped feeding him after their little argument…but no matter. Jack had certainly been in worse conditions before.

She pulled him out of her cabin, nearly knocking him to his knees as she continued on towards the longboat waiting on the side of her ship to be lowered to the ocean below. Over rigging, ropes, and all sorts of clothing. Apparently Pâquerette's whole crew was naked. Either that, or they'd all disappeared without their clothes. Unfortunately, Jack had no time to examine why there were clothes all over the main deck because Pâquerette soon reached the leeward side and forced him into the boat. He could just make out a small island in the distance.

Thankfully, it didn't look familiar. A small stab of worry had pierced his side when he'd noticed that small shape in the distance. What if Pâquerette, with a desire for irony or something, decided to maroon him on that same godforsaken spit of land he'd been marooned on before? That would've been painful. He very probably couldn't handle that.

Pâquerette bound his hands with a piece of hempen rope and disappeared for a moment. She returned with a few women Jack hadn't seen before. Unfortunately (in Jack's humble opinion), none of them were without their clothes. Maybe it was just laundry day or something. Jack really was still mystified by the clothes. He hadn't even thought to try and escape. What was the point? He had nowhere to go. His money was back with his things aboard his old ship. He couldn't even get a ride, unless he pick pocketed someone or managed to get in someone's good graces. That was an unlikely outcome.

The women stepped into the longboat and one with long brown hair slowly started lowering the ship into the waiting water below. This would undoubtedly be an adventure. Jack would've been excited to be going to an apparently deserted island with several women if he hadn't noticed the look in Pâquerette's blue eyes. She meant business. Bother.

* * *

The ride to the small island had been quite boring. None of the women maintained eye contact with Jack for more than a moment or two. Maybe they'd been warned he was evil and would leave them after only a night. Or maybe their tongue would be cut out if they so much as smiled at him. Or maybe they weren't into men at all. 

Whatever it was, it really bothered Jack until they reached that small island. It was a beautiful island with approximately fifteen palm trees. The leaves were swaying peacefully high above everyone's head as they stepped out of the skiff and onto the sparkling white beaches. There seemed to be nothing marring the beach at all. No loose driftwood, no seaweed, no crabs, no shells...it was almost pristine. Maybe nature had been afraid to touch such an island.

Though the island was beautiful, Jack got the worst feeling of dread as he was forced up by the woman with long brown hair and almost pushed out of the boat. His dark eyes stared up at the trees. Was it just him, or did the air seem darker around here? Maybe the cloud hiding the sun would go away...but Jack really doubted it. There was no sound at all in the dense undergrowth in the center of the island as Pâquerette and her crew forced him to walk forward, leaving his footprints on the unnaturally clean beach. They were warped by the footprints of some of his armed female escorts, though. At least Jack didn't have to worry about stepping on something poisonous with his bare feet. That was a plus. Pâquerette had hidden his boots some time before in one of their little games. She really was an odd redhead in bed, wasn't she?

As he was told to march into the foliage, Jack shot Pâquerette an odd glance. What was this all about? Why was she avoiding answering his questions? It was getting quite old relatively quickly. Jack enjoyed solving riddles, after all, and it is impossible to solve a riddle or two without the slightest hint of a clue.

**

* * *

Special Note: I will eventually post another chapter of One Night Stands in which I reply to the reviews for Number Four and Number Three. Sorry about being so lazy.**

**Eccentric Banshee: **It is very fun to abuse Jack. Which is why he's being treated so cruelly now. He should've left when he had the chance. Because I have a sneaking suspicion Diane would've helped him out...  
Mid thirties is a very good age to guess. And I can see why you aim lower. Johnny is just one of those timeless people...  
Thanks for the review, loff!

**Raisin**: I like to read your replies, too. Dunno why. Oh, wait. Yes I do. Very entertaining! I like being entertained.  
I should've had Klaus say something like that. Unfortunately, we're not going to see him again. We're moving on to the weird part of the plot that I'm mainly putting in for kicks and to mess with people's view of Jack. But don't worry, he'll be doing it for all the "right" reasons. I hinted at it a lot...  
Gibbs would definitely have a heart attack with that many women. Imagine him on Pâquerette**'**s ship. -shudder- Not a pretty picture. He'd probably explode.  
Jack probably won't spread word around that he's nearly invincible. I'm assuming. Dunno for sure, though. But I think that's one thing he'll keep to himself. Even in the next two movies. )  
The whole crew is women. I'll probably explain why. Maybe not. But I plan on having Diane in the next chapter, at least. 'Cause she rocks.  
It bothers me when people think Jack is twenty five in the movie. How could he really know Bootstrap Bill if he was only twenty five? He would've had to be captain of the _Black Pearl_ at the tender age of fifteen. Which is silly. A man couldn't be a captain at the age of fifteen and have Barbossa as first mate.  
I'm so sorry it took me so long to update!  
**CrazyPirateGirl**: Yep. Nearly invincible and cute. The perfect man...well, except for his whole spending time with nearly every woman he sees... I'm sorry it took me so long to review, I hope to review again in the next while. Unfortunately, the AP tests are the week after this next one and I have an internship next week...  
And Jack can't die. He's gotta make his appearance in the movie.  
**Jack: **Glad you liked it.  
**Daisy**: Erica likes reading your fluff, luv. She's heartbroken tha' ye mentioned ye din' think there was a point in reviewin'. If she doesn' get reviews, she goes nuts. An' we don' want t' see tha'. Trus' me.  
She does thank ye for botherin' t' leave a review, though. An' tole me tha' I can reply t' yers as often as I want t'. If tha's not incentive t' leave fluff, I don' know what is.  
**Mystic Moon Maiden**: I don't mind short reviews. I just like knowing that people are reading what I put online. Thanks! Since you were the first to review, you get a snazzy Pez dispenser!


	5. Chapter Four: Damsel and Dames

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be writing this.

AN (4/26): I'm going absolutely insane, actually. I keep staying up really late so I can finish my homework that I procrastinate later and later each evening. It's a horrible habit, especially since the AP tests are next week. But, my calculus teacher thinks I'll pass. Maybe I'll just have to prove him wrong to spite 'im.  
(5/6): I'm not dead, I swear! I've only got two more AP tests to go! Woo!

**Chapter Four: Damsel and Dames**

_As Jack swaggered his way towards the dingy little tavern he was staying at (until he found some money magically on the street) he chanced to stare out at the ocean. That wasn't an unusual occurrence for anyone, frankly, because the ocean is just that enthralling. He had a curious relationship with the sea. They seemed to be like quarrelsome lovers at the moment and the sea was the "repentant" woman begging for his forgiveness. He just had to get this opera nonsense out of his system tonight, and he'd go to Tortuga and pick up a crew. That would work. _

As he was staring at the sea, however, he happened to notice that someone was screaming. Based on the high frequency, it was a woman. Jack's natural instincts to save the damsel in distress kicked in, and before he knew it, he was swimming towards the sound of the screaming. In the fading sunlight, he just barely caught sight of a woman in a green dress floundering above the waves. She was probably the one who had been screaming. It seemed as though the sea had decided to claim her. Not on Jack's watch. When beautiful things were destroyed senselessly, it always seemed to prick Jack's heart. Which is probably a good thing, isn't it? Or he would abuse the women he frequented so often and would be everything his father had wanted him to be and more.

_The water was cool and quite salty as it lapped around his body, the waves trying with all their might to force him back against the shoreline. Beads of sweat dripped from his hairline as he madly dashed towards the screaming woman. He was her only hope, it seemed, because everyone else who'd been walking along the beach hadn't heeded the siren's high pitched cry. Jack didn't really think he'd end up being dashed against the rocks because of his inclination to save this woman. No…he wasn't really giving any thought whatsoever to what he was doing. All he knew was that someone needed his help and that someone could make it very worth his while, depending on her beauty or bank account, figuratively speaking._

_He reached the damsel in what could be considered a good time. She hadn't succumbed to the enticing waves and hadn't given up trying to keep her head above water, though she had given up trying to scream and was in the process of giving up her will to survive. She hadn't noticed him, since she was turned the wrong direction, trying to find the island again. In fact, when he touched her shoulder, she literally jumped out of the water a few inches while yelping as she turned to look at him._

"_D' you need help?" Jack asked with just a hint of amusement visible in his dark eyes. No sense in mocking someone so close to dying, right? He probably would've overreacted in the same position she was in._

_She slowly nodded, a wondrously hopeful smile dancing across her face. It was almost like a little child, being trapped in a well for several days, seeing a rope finally come down to rescue them from the terror that would shortly be repressed and forgotten. "Yes."_

"_Always a pleasure t' serve," Jack replied, smiling back as he gently took her hand. "Can ye swim a' all?" Her long auburn hair was swaying just beneath the waves, the tendrils kissing all of the unseen plankton preparing for another day of catching sunlight and being eaten by fish. The moonlight cascaded down on her in a most enticing manner, illuminating all of her best qualities in an eerie silver sheen. She seemed like a goddess. A goddess that had somehow been stripped of immortality that had to be protected at all costs._

"_I can," she affirmed. "But I was caught unawares, by that wave. And I don't know the way back to land." She seemed lost suddenly, and Jack felt as though it was his fault she was so alone. It was his fault he hadn't been paying more attention and it was his fault she was out in the middle of apparently no where. Fortunately, for her, Jack knew very well what direction to head, because of the stars, and was quite a strong swimmer._

"_Can you beat the surf?" Jack pressed, trying to act as though her physical appearance had no effect on him whatsoever. He had to concentrate here. Couldn't let himself be distracted by her enchanting blue eyes and fluttering lashes. Whether they were fluttering because she was flirting or because she was cold or just because she was terrified was really up in the air._

"_With your help, probably," she rejoined, trying to sound confident. Jack really thought she resembled a flower tossed into the sea with no hope of escaping the rocks next to the shore. Of course, she had hope. He was her hope._

"_Right." Jack smiled and started swimming towards the surf. Now, one generally would assume getting to shore would be dreadfully easy, right, since the ocean is constantly driving everything towards the shore. But when you're caught by a current headed another direction and the tide is changing, it really is quite difficult to break past the part where swells start morphing into waves. Perhaps if a large wave came along and swept both the damsel and Jack towards the shore, they'd be able to get there without any effort whatsoever. That seemed quite unlikely. It appeared they would have to swim._

_Of course, that was no problem for Jack, was it? He was being moved towards the shore by both his adrenaline and his pride. He didn't want to appear to be a fool in front of this attractive and terrified woman. He had to play the part of the over-confident man, to compensate for her fear. It was working quite well, fortunately, as they neared the shoreline._

_That was when the worst happened, as often happens when everything seems to be going all right. Looming several feet away, over the next swell, was a monster. Now, it wasn't a monster in the truest sense of the word. On the contrary, it was merely a community of animals living together and feeding, as everything in the world has the right of doing. Several large gas-filled floating violet balls indicated what this particularly dangerous creature was. Underneath the peacefully floating and deceptive sacks holding mostly nitrogen, however, lurked tentacles full of poison to capture fish feeding near the surface. Jack and the woman were headed straight towards a Portuguese Man-of-War, one of the scourges of swimmers in such exotic waters all over the world._

* * *

As Jack was being forced to the center of the island with only fifteen palm trees and an unnatural feeling of dread, he couldn't help but wonder exactly what Pâquerette was up to. Maybe she was going to sacrifice him to the goddess of revenge. Jack wasn't sure if there was a goddess of revenge, but he imagined the Greeks and Romans had an obscure one, at least, that could be called the goddess of revenge. Maybe there was something in Hindu mythology that could be considered the goddess of revenge. Maybe Pâquerette just wanted to kill him on an odd island with the trees arranged in such an odd manner. Maybe he was putting more thought into it than he needed to. 

"Come on Sparrow," Pâquerette barked, tugging on the rope they'd tied to his hands to force him to the center of the island. "We don't have all day." The crew members with her snickered softly. Obviously Jack was missing out on some sort of inside joke.

"Never assumed we did," Jack retorted sarcastically as he glanced at the trees. Now that he was closer to them, it seemed they were arranged in groups of three with a large grassy field in the center. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that the field was in the shape of a pentagon. But that couldn't happen in nature, right? Unless someone had come along years ago and had planted the trees in five groups of three like that, it was just a coincidence. He was imagining things. Had to be. "Things of this nature often run on a schedule."

"Very true, my little Moineau." Pâquerette smiled slightly as she heard Jack gasp softly and then watched him try to mask his evident surprise. Men were so predictable. She'd called him the French word for Sparrow, and here he was surprised about it. Of course, it didn't hit her that perhaps he had some other connotation with the word. Which he did. But that wasn't something Jack often liked thinking about.

The rest of the journey to the absolute center of the field was in relative silence. Jack stood next to Pâquerette, in chains. The rest of her crew was gone, behind some of the trees. Jack was utterly confused. None of this was making any sense. Why was it just himself and Pâquerette standing there? Did she plan on offering him as some sort of sacrifice?

Fortunately, it seemed as though Pâquerette was willing to talk, for she turned to face Jack with a mixture of absolute hatred and something akin to love lighting her slightly beleaguered face. "Jack."

A rather uncomfortable pause started. "Yes?" Jack finally asked, sick of the silence.

"Why?" Pâquerette seemed to be searching for some reason not to do what she was about to do, whatever that was. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Pâquerette had developed some feelings for him, right? Either that, or she was the world's best actress.

"Why what?" Jack asked cautiously. He didn't want to make her mad because she probably would kill him.

"Why am I so attracted to you?" Pâquerette asked, addressing more herself than him. "You killed my only brother. You forced my father to kill himself…and yet…" She kissed him violently and passionately. "I can't stop."

Jack wisely refrained from answering that. If he did, she'd probably kill him for his egocentric ways. Jack was very proud of how great a lover he was, actually. But Pâquerette did have a very odd way of showing attraction, didn't she?

"Can't stop." She sighed heavily and kissed him again, taking a few steps back. "I suppose it won't matter for long, will it? You will be mine and I will get my revenge."

Jack was under the impression that Pâquerette hadn't meant to say that, and was on the verge of asking her exactly what she meant, since she was being so open at the moment with him, but a great distraction came from the trees. "So tha's why there were clothes on deck," Jack commented softly to himself. If he'd been in any other situation, what he was seeing would be something to be quite excited over, since he thought he was the only man on the island. How often do you see twenty or so women wearing nothing but what they were born with? Sure, some of them were wearing robes, standing next to the groves of trees…but there was enough to look at with them being clothed to keep any man occupied for quite some time.

Jack was so enthralled by the mass of nude women he didn't notice someone approaching, from the point of the rough pentagon. The new individual was wearing a robe as well, like Diane (who Jack had just happened to notice, standing in the left corner relative to the direction he was facing at the moment) and some of the other women who wouldn't look so pleasing without clothes. It was deathly silent. All of the chatter of the women died as they reverently kneeled on the grass and bowed, adopting a position of complete submission. Jack, for a moment, thought they were bowing to him until Pâquerette forced him to turn around and to get down on one knee. He saw the hooded man and instantly felt cold dread. This was a weird feeling for Jack; so it made him quite uncomfortable. Jack could tell the figure was a man, just based on the way he was walking.

"Good job, Pâquerette," a cold voice said. It was apparently coming from the robed man. "You've finally brought me Captain Jack Sparrow." He probably smiled at Pâquerette before turning his attention back to Jack. Even though there were numerous beautiful nude women behind him, Jack found he couldn't turn away from the masked figure. He could barely see Pâquerette out of the corner of his eye. She'd turned into that pleasing, smiling, and subservient woman she could be occasionally. Obviously she liked the praise.

"Not Captain anymore, if ye please," Jack corrected softly, tilting his head slightly as he tried imagining who was behind the robe, so to speak. "Jus' Jack Sparrow."

"Well, just Jack Sparrow," the masked man said indifferently, "you've been selected to be a part of a grand experiment. I've wanted to meet you for so long because I believe you're the only one who can handle my grand designs."

Well, wasn't that nice? Jack didn't know what to make of it, but he had a gut instinct that it wouldn't be anything good. Generally people wearing robes in front of lots of women that weren't wearing anything talking about grand designs were up to no good. "I'm positively thrilled," Jack remarked sarcastically.

Pâquerette laughed softly, putting her arm possessively around his. "We're ready," she announced firmly, glancing towards the robed man. "Do the ceremony."

"Ceremony?" Jack's question went unanswered as the robed man slowly nodded and bowed. The women behind him cheered raggedly as the robed man pulled out a small book.

"Hush," Pâquerette said soothingly, brushing a few particles of imaginary dirt off his shoulder. "It will all be over shortly."

"What are you doing?" Jack asked plaintively as he was forced down onto his knees as the man at the point of the now very apparent pentagon turned to face them again. His question went unaddressed this time as the man started talking. Pâquerette was kneeling next to him, looking positively excited for what was about to happen.

"Today we are gathered on this fine island to force two people together," the man started, his voice carrying surprisingly easy, though he was rather far away from Jack and Pâquerette in the middle of the pentagon. That didn't sound very good and Jack was starting to get very worried now, as if the previous signs hadn't been enough to worry him. This was just surreal. "If there are any objections, they'd best be forgotten because this isn't a "natural" wedding. No. This is something to give power to the woman, as the woman is often neglected and mistreated by her husband. It is time that changes. What better man to do this to than Jack Sparrow? He's been a womanizer since his mother died and he needs to learn some control. Which is why we will control him." The man laughed softly.

It was a very eerie laugh that made Jack feel even worse. He was going to be controlled by a woman? And he was going to get married? Something in this picture was completely wrong. "Wait jus' a minute," Jack said, standing up and glaring at the robed man. "You can't do this."

"I can't?" The man laughed again. This time Pâquerette's crew joined in. Jack felt like the world was spinning too fast. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Well…" Jack gasped as the man pointed towards him and a sharp jolt of pain hit his chest, forcing him back to his knees. "No." It was a weak sort of rebellious stance, actually, and it was probably more impulse than bravery. Jack had always been one to say no under torture, after all.

"I believe I can," the man replied, pointing at Jack with both hands. Jack started convulsing. The chains seemed to be digging into his chest and hands. It was the most pain he'd ever been in. And yet, he still shook his head. The man didn't seem to care this time and merely moved on to complete the ceremony.

Pâquerette was watching this all with a mixture of worry, excitement, revenge and greed on her face as she calmly contemplated what was going on. She would soon exact her revenge and would get the body she continually lusted over.

**

* * *

CrazyPirateGirl:** Senioritis is the bane of my existence. I don't want to do anything anymore. But I did finally decide what was up with Pâquerette today during Calculus, since we had free time. Great fun. Jack being random is fun too. And thanks for the review!  
**Eccentric Banshee: **I would probably scratch too. And, Pâquerette hasn't spit so far. But don't worry, she will. This whole plot probably doesn't make any sense. But it's the best I can come up with. So there. And I did hear Dustin Hoffman say that about Johnny. After I came up with the whole nearly invincible thing. Dunno where that came from, either. Anyway, thanks for the review! I appreciate reading yours. Great fun to read and always informative. And I'm now reminding you to send me the best picture of Johnny. Because I like good pictures of Johnny. And good luck on your writing ventures. I need to review your last update, don't I?  
**Mystic Moon Maiden**: I've read that one too, where Jack was a cartographer. A good take on his past, I think. I tend to think he was more aristocratic than that, though, because he knows such big words and probably couldn't have taught them to himself. But what do I know? Nothing. Sorry if this seems a bit odd…I'm very tired. Like, uberly tired. And I promise we will soon learn about Gibbs and Anamaria. Soon, my padawan. Soon. Thanks for the review!  
**Raisin**: Awesome possum is freakin' amazing, man. I'll have to say that. I like saying kicks and giggles, too. Fun. You should try it. And snazzy. Good word, that. And he can't test being nearly invincible, but he will test it. Out of desperation. You'll see. It'll be a great scene to write. But its not for a while yet. And Pâquerette isn't ever going to point out the obvious. Because she's not that way. But no worries…hopefully my insane plot twist will make some sense. Feel free to give me criticism on the error of my logic. Because I'm sure I'm going to have a lot of plot holes…at least until the one chapter that I can't tell you about. As for the cult rituals…well, what do you think a crew of naked women are up to with a creepy guy we've seen before? No good. Thanks for the review! I lurved it! Your reply would be longer, but I'm at school and have to hurry.  
**Daisy**: I've tried tellin' 'er, luv, really, I 'ave. But she likes t' be lazy. Been doing a lot of sleeping and nothin', t' tell the truth, ever since this AP testing started. She's also been on sugar highs a lo'. Very scary, ye see, when she's high on sugar.  
Of course I like readin' yer fluff, luv. Valuable fluff it is. Intriguin', too. Erica uses a lo' of your comments, in ways I don' think you realize. An' a lot of your characters. Just look who shows up in the nex' chapter…  
Erica isn' sayin' yer evil… Pâquerette is. The French you. I think a lo' of French are evil. Comes wiv the territory. Thank ye for leavin' a review again. I know Erica appreciated it.  
**Jack**: She's hiding a lot. But no worries! Thanks for the review. Since you were number one, you get this crappy computer in the writing lab! Yay! 


	6. Chapter Five: Faith and Hope

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be writing this.

AN (5/20): Sorry it has taken me so long. I've had the first half of this in a folder (not typed) for what seems like ages, really. But here it is. The explanation of the scar on his left arm. I bet you've been dying to know how he got that, eh?

**Chapter Five: Faith and Hope**

"_What is that?" the woman asked, huffing from the exertion of swimming in a soggy, heavy dress. Jack was starting to get sick of drinking sea water and was quite tempted to rip her dress off. He could barely hear her because his ears were plugged up with the salty sea and everything, including his beating heart, seemed muffled. She was pointing towards the peacefully deceptive Man-O-War floating in the water. The pinkish bubbles floating on the top of the water like peaceful ducks were clearly visible now._

_Not to Jack, however, since he was still facing the beach. He didn't want to lose his bearings and end up having to be rescued himself; that would be no fun. Instead of answering her, though, Jack murmured an apology softly , took a deep breath, and went below the water. Once there, he ripped her fine and waterlogged skirts off. The woman didn't start struggling until after the skirts were off, unfortunately. She kicked Jack in face as she tried desperately to get away, confusing the pirate. What had startled her so bad?_

_Mentally cursing, Jack struggled to surface, clawing at the water with his bare arms (he'd pulled his sleeves up before jumping into the water to keep them from limiting his grip because they were slightly longer than they should have been) like a cat clawing desperately on a slippery surface after jumping to avoid embarrassment. A sharp jolt of pain in his left arm made him gasp and swallow quite a lot of water as he neared the surface. The pain was far more intense, unexpected, and concentrated than anything he'd ever felt before. He knew he had to surface so he mastered the impulse to pull the offending creature off his arm right then so he could get a better look at it above the water. He didn't want to find out too late he was doomed to die. His lungs were calling for oxygen and Jack had never been one not to listen to his lungs, as well._

_Upon reaching the surface, Jack's lungs exploded into ragged gasps and feeble coughing as he expelled sea water from his precious lungs and weakly lifted the afflicted arm out of the water. It felt like it was made of lead, truly, rather than flesh and blood. He blinked for a moment, struggling to make sense of the blurs he was seeing (as a result of the combined efforts of the salt water and shock) as he stared at his wounded arm. When his eyes focused, he realized the woman was staring at him in shock and that there were a few mean looking tentacles clutching to his now furious red skin. It almost looked like a burn combined with a scar from a whipping and it hurt a lot. It would almost undoubtedly scar._

_Jack's attention snapped like a unraveling rope pulled too tight as the woman screamed. He turned slightly and noticed the Man-O-War floating near him. Putting two and two together in a split second, Jack figured this curious animal was the cause of his pain so he started swimming away. Unfortunately, another tentacle hit him in exactly the same place as the first one. He cried out in pain as another surge of fresh adrenaline started his legs and arms again and he swam towards the woman. Once they were both safely away from the Man-O-War, Jack examined his arm again. "D' ye 'ave any suggestions as to how I can get this off?" he found himself asking in a rather strained voice._

_The woman merely shook her head. She'd never seen a Man-O-War attack or even a jellyfish attack before in her life. Many proper Christians believed that the devil had control over the water, so they never bothered learning how to swim. She'd been taught by her father after nearly drowning in England after falling into a pond. The incident had embarrassed her fat-faced father enough to teach her something her mother had forbidden in their home. Even though she did know how to swim (which was why she was out here in the first place), she did it very infrequently._

"_Lovely," Jack muttered, wincing as the swells of water tickled his arm. He knew that if he tried removing the tentacles with his bare hands, his hands would be stung and scarred even though the tentacles were no longer connected to the Man-O-War. Frowning as he tread water, Jack pulled his right sleeve up over his hand (it was too long, after all) and quickly pulled the painful tentacles off his arm. The floated serenely down to meet Old Hobb, glad to have fulfilled some purpose in life. Jack continued treading water for a few minutes, dipping the injured arm into the salty sea every so often. Once the pain was manageable, he looked back at the woman. "Sorry I ruined yer dress," he said thickly._

"_Quite all right." She smiled slightly, looking at the angry red welt on his arm for a bit. "Are you going to be all right?"_

"_Aye." Jack motioned towards the shore with his good arm. "We need t' get moving. Don' want to be trapped out here forever."_

_The woman nodded fervently and started swimming towards where he'd indicated. Jack cursed softly under his breath and then followed. How could he help her, with his left arm like this? Of course, she seemed to be having an easier time swimming, now that she wasn't wearing her heavy skirts._

* * *

"_Thank you." The woman smiled tiredly over at Jack after she'd regained the ability to speak. Her breathing was still quite ragged and indicated her complete exhaustion, but her smile was quite enchanting indeed._

_Jack slowly sat up and waited for the world to stop spinning. "No problem." He offered to help her up to a sitting position. "D' you live nearby?"_

_She nodded quickly and took his hand, sitting up. Jack then stood and helped her pull herself up to her feet. "I live this way." She only seemed slightly embarrassed to be in her under dress as she lead him towards a modest house up on a hill near the beach. The view from the house would be spectacular, during the day. If Jack were somehow forced to live on land for the rest of his life, he would live in a house like her's._

"_So... This is it" she said a bit nervously as they reached her apparently gleaming front door. The moonlight was bathing everything in silvery overtones, making her seem that much more beautiful and the house that much more appealing. Of course, Jack realized a lot of what he was feeling was probably due to exhaustion. "Thank you so much. Is there anything I can do to help?" She pointed towards his injured left hand that seemed to be the only ugly thing under the moonlight. It also seemed to be swelling. His sleeve, which was still rolled up above it, seemed to be cutting off the circulation. It could always just be a trick from the bored moon, but she was quite sure he was still in a lot of pain._

"_I'm fine." Jack smiled at her reassuringly. "I've had worse." Definitely true. Jack had nearly died several times thus far (though, he hadn't been in that much pain for quite a while) and his back was a myriad of scars._

"_If you're-"_

"_Well, you could give me yer name," Jack interrupted. "I like knowing who I rescued."_

_The woman smiled and curtsied slightly. "Faith Purdue, at your service, Mister..."_

_Jack smiled, astounded to hear who she was. Faith Purdue was the opera's star soprano and he was supposed to have heard her sing tonight. Obviously that wouldn't happen unless he asked for a private performance since he'd missed the show and had no money to buy a new ticket unless he picked some plump pockets. "Jack. Jus' call me Jack." He bowed and gently took her delicate hand, caressing it with his lips for a moment before returning it. He didn't miss that little sigh of pleasure that escaped from her lips. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Purdue. Your skill and reputation are well known, bu' all the stories about your beauty do no' do you justice."_

_She laughed pleasantly, clearly pleased to hear him say something so nice and romantic. "Quite the charmer, Mr. Jack. Have you seen any of my operas?"_

"_Actually, I have tickets for tonight's performance." Jack reached into his pocket and frowned. "Or, rather, I 'ad tickets. Quite wet, you see."_

"_A pity," Faith replied softly. "I could give you a private performance, as a token of my appreciation." She smiled warmly at the excited look on Jack's face. "But only if you know the music and can sing it with me. I find it a little unnerving, singing for only one person."_

"_Oh, I _know _the music," Jack responded eagerly. "And the chance to perform wiv you, in your home? Well, how could I refuse?"_

* * *

The robed man continued speaking, though hardly any of it made any sense to Jack. He was in too much pain because of those evil chains. Chains were probably the worst invention in the world. Jack really wanted to hit who first discovered you could lock people up in them. It gave sadists too much power. If he hadn't been locked up, Jack was fairly sure he could've taken down this creepy guy in the robe. 

"Now I shall actually marry you," the man said almost proudly, finishing his spiel about how Pâquerette had permission to use Jack however she wanted to and that he wouldn't be able to say no at all. Jack suddenly found that the chains weren't as heavy and that they weren't as constricting. He could breathe!

"I don't think you can," Jack said, wheezing slightly as he struggled to at least look at his tormentor. Of course, he didn't really think the man in the robe could be giving him pain like that. It had to just be a fluke. The chains were just rather cold and were constricting. And the feeling of dizziness… Maybe it was something to do with the naked women behind him that he couldn't look at. Or, perhaps it was just the food that Pâquerette had given him to eat last night. He was allergic to something in the food she kept serving him. Had to be. It would make it hard for him to breathe. He just was still trying to determine what it was that bothered him in the sludge he was given to eat. If he was going to be married…well…

"I do think I can," the hooded figure replied, sounding annoyed. The man clearly thought that Jack was protesting for no real reason. Who wouldn't want to marry the redhead Pâquerette? Though her teeth were quite crooked, she was a beautiful woman. Plus, Jack would "have" his own ship again. Wasn't that something to celebrate? Some people were so selfish. Jack could do a lot more with an all female crew than he probably realized. Pâquerette was the sort of woman that shared all the booty with her crew.

Jack was having a very hard time staying conscious, suddenly. The world was blurring and becoming some black color. Most disgusting. The slight titters from the women behind him seemed to echo inside his head a million times and amplify themselves. This would make his head explode! There was no other explanation for that feeling. Couldn't be. "Why?"

The man smiled slightly, the smile just barely visible beneath the hood. "Well, I own you."

"Impossible," Jack spat, struggling to his feet. "You can't own someone."

"I can and do, Captain Sparrow. I suggest you forget your notions about life before I reveal something you don't want to know. Let me marry you to this fine specimen and stay out of my hair. You're not the man I thought you were."

"You can't own me," Jack protested weakly. "Jus' like Pâquerette could ne'er get me to really do what she tells me."

The man sighed and opened the book. He glanced to Pâquerette. "Do you, Pâquerette Jouer, take Jack Sparrow to be your husband? Do you promise to control him forever and keep him from causing trouble?"

Pâquerette was silent for a while, glancing between Jack and the man. "I do."

"Good," the man replied, smiling again. He glanced towards Jack. "Since this is a marriage under duress…you've already given your consent, by consummating the marriage already. So…I now pronounce you man and wife!" A curious blue light appeared from his fingertips and Jack felt himself go unconscious. The weird thing about it was that he could hear absolutely everything and was very much aware of what was going on. He felt…trapped.

Pâquerette kissed his prostrated form gently before standing up. "All right, girls! The promised orgy is about to begin. Don't wear out guest out." Jack assumed the man took his hood off to reveal his face, because he heard all of the women get excited. Based on their reactions, the robed man was rather attractive. Pity he couldn't see anything. He liked knowing what his enemies looked like.

Jack was wishing he could move before the orgy started, actually. Or that he could at least go unconscious. Instead, Pâquerette snapped, "Get up, Sparrow." Jack felt his body get itself up to walk to her side. He had to obey her. Lovely. Just lovely. A pirate that had to listen to his lover. "Come on," she added, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the ruckus going on with the nude women.

Jack couldn't see a thing but his body was surprisingly able to dodge all of the debris along the way. Maybe he was just running on basic brain functions without sight. Or his body was a cage for his soul. Jack didn't want to think about it.

Pâquerette suddenly stopped and helped him sit down before kissing him in a way that meant only one thing. After the kiss was done, Jack put his hand up for a moment. "Is it normal for me to not see?" he asked, his voice far too refined for his tastes. It sounded like someone completely different.

"Aye, I believe it is," Pâquerette replied, sounding a bit frustrated. "Don't worry." A direct command. Jack was no longer allowed to worry until Pâquerette decided he needed to be worried. "Now, kiss me."

This was going to get rather old fast, wasn't it? Just what would a woman like Pâquerette do with him now? And what was the robed man talking about? How could he be owned by someone he'd never even met before in his life? Jack hated unanswered questions, but he couldn't worry about them.

* * *

When Jack awoke the next morning, he was completely exhausted and covered in sand. And alone. But he could see the sun rising in the East. It was a very reassuring sight. Maybe he'd been left by his bride already. Jack didn't want to be married. He didn't want to have to listen to Pâquerette for the rest of his life. He didn't want to be here. This was almost as bad as being betrayed by your best friend and left on an island to die. 

"Ah…the sleepy boy is finally awake," Diane said as she walked towards Jack and sat down near him. "Should I end his misery?" She was holding a pistol in her hand, stroking it lovingly. It took Jack a moment to recognize it. She was holding the pistol he was saving to use on Barbossa, the next time they met.

"No," Jack replied, holding his hand out for the gun. He was too tired to exchange witty banter. Pâquerette could be quite violent when she wanted to be. "He'd rather be miserable for the rest of his life."

"Apparently," Diane rejoined, slowly handing him the pistol. Her dark eyes were full of a mysterious mixture of emotions as she contemplated Jack carefully. "I warned you, Jack."

"Warned me about what?"

"Everything." Diane sighed softly. "Pâquerette has been speaking of you since I met her the first time. Absolutely obsessed with revenge."

"Why in the world did she marry me, then?" Jack asked, a tired bite to his voice. "Doesn' make sense."

"No. It doesn't." Diane frowned. "I don't know why she married you. Must be something to do with the _gentleman_ last night." She tilted her head slightly, alarmed at the bite to his voice. He was Jack Sparrow…he could handle this.

"Who was he?" Jack asked after a long pause, toying with the pistol in his hands. This was boring. Where was Pâquerette, anyway? Couldn't they leave this island so that he could figure out how to get away?

"I'm not entirely sure. We found him in London, if that helps. He seemed to know a lot about Pâquerette. Too much, maybe. Promised her that if she got pregnant with your child he'd give her everything her heart desired." Diane looked down at her hands. "She's pregnant."

"I know," Jack replied softly. He did know. Women couldn't really hide that for long from him. "I know. An' I thought it might have somethin' t' do wiv that…but…" He frowned. "I don't know why she bothered marryin' me if she got what she wanted."

"She had to. The man changed the terms a week ago." Diane looked up at Jack again. "She was absolutely furious when he did…but then he promised that you would have to listen to her. Pâquerette didn't ask any questions as to why he wanted to ruin your life. But I think you did something to offend him."

Jack laughed bitterly. "Who haven't I offended, eh? Me captain is going t' wonder where the heck I am, by now. All the friends I 'ave in the Mediterranean will forget abou' me. I'll be unknown again because of a bloody redhead."

"Something wrong with redheads, then?" Diane smiled softly. "Relax. It isn't as bad as you think it is. There's always a way out. Always."

"I doubt ye'd believe that in me situation," Jack replied with a frown. "Bu' thanks for the advice. I can handle the situation meself."

Diane scoffed and stood up. "Fine. Just kill her before she tells you you can't." With that, she turned around and walked away, her dark hair bouncing against the back of her light shirt. She really was a beautiful woman.

**

* * *

Sunkist3208**: a cult is close enough to what it really is. Creepy naked women. And I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I'm a slow poke. –grins- Thanks for the review, Whitney!  
**Mystic Moon Maiden**: I've heard that he's captured by cannibals in the next film, too. I can't wait! And also some stuff about Davy Jones. I wish it were next year… And the Moineau/Sparrow bit will be explained shortly. Very shortly. Hope you like this chapter! It's rather weird…  
**Raisin**: Jack actually is very liberal with his views on women. Very liberal. Men really did think they were the superior sex. Some men still do. And yes, Jack has to obey the redhead. Poor Jack. Perhaps someday he'll find some woman to control him that won't control him, if that makes sense. Anyway, I would love being around in the 20's too. I like the whole Women's right movement. Tis cool.  
And the Salem Witch trials were very interesting to study, too. I've heard a few theories where they think some fungus in the bread gave those girls hallucinations… The naked women thing…well, that was kinda last minute. This is just going to get weirder and weirder… But her crew are devil worshippers.  
I saw a trailer for Charlie too…and I can't wait! I'm totally going opening day. Thanks for the very informative review!  
**CrazyPirateGirl**: That's because I'm getting weirder and weirder all the time. Trust me, it'll get to be normal by the time Jack meets up with Anamaria and Gibbs. Which will happen, honest. We've seen the robed man before. –cough-laststory-cough- And I'm glad you liked it! Thanks for being such a loyal reviewer! You rock my socks!  
**Daisy**: I like Pâquerette's method too, frankly. I think more women should have complete control over their husband.  
I din' like her method, frankly. Pâquerette was a crazy woman, an' she's only loosely based on ye, luv. An' I think ye've probably caught the name this time, eh? If not, well, I'll jus' 'ave t' give ye a thorough talk abou' life. Or somethin'. Bu' thanks for leaving your sentiments again, milady. Erica would be even more crazy wivout you.  
**Eccentric Banshee**: You still have to show me that picture. And Artemis would do very nicely. I couldn't remember her name, hence me dancing around it there. As I'm sure you could tell. The naked women were the robbed man's idea. Because, you see, he likes orgies. –uncomfortable cough- Thanks for taking the time to leave me a review! Since I'm still at school, you gets a snazzy invitation to the School of Technology banquet next Wednesday. 


	7. Chapter Six: Opera and Bliss

Disclaimer: I do not have permission to be writing this.

AN (5/31): It's yearbook day! Woo! I have to give a speech on Thursday. I think I might die between now and then.

(6/3): Well, I didn't die. And I'm all graduated! Woot! Sorry it took me so long to update...I had this done quite a while ago.

**Chapter Six: Opera and "Bliss"**

_He was a sensation. Everyone who was anyone was talking about him. He was more popular now than ever before. Of course, no one knew his real name. Which was a very good thing. Whoever heard of a pirate as infamous as Jack Sparrow singing opera?_

_It just defied reason, as it should. He'd given Faith the last name of Moineau (French for Sparrow; he'd been too embarrassed by her drooling praise to think of anything more creative in a tight spot when she'd been insisting on knowing his last name) after they'd finished singing together. Apparently she really liked his voice. After she insisted he sign a contract to be at her opera house for at least a season, she'd finally pulled him into her rather cushy bed._

_If Jack had known women would go wild over his best singing voice, he would have started singing sweet notes to them long ago._

_At least, that was his thought to begin with._

_Now it was just annoying. After he preformed, he was _always _mobbed by women anxious to bear his children or at least get a glimpse of him. They all wanted him to sing, like some sort of trained monkey. Jack almost felt like a snake charmer he'd seen in India. When he sang, it was so easy to get women to spend the night with him it was just stupid._

_He was sick of it._

_Sure he met a lot of beautiful women singing; but he was bored. He wanted the sea again. She was his true love, not all of the drooling fans he had. Being famous certainly wasn't all it was cracked up to be. At least when he'd been an infamous pirate, his admirers had kept their distance._

_Something had to be done. Jack couldn't keep this up much longer. That's why he'd hatched an absolutely brilliant (and extremely dangerous) plan to get out of his contract and forget about ever being Jack Moineau, the brilliant tenor that was an expert lover and an all-around nice guy, even though his accent was quite common and he had an odd tendency to over-express himself through his superfluous hand motions. Everyone was willing to overlook the one strand of his dark hair sporting a few beads. Mere eccentricity. Wearing kohl off stage was excused as well. People who knew Jack Sparrow were fooled into thinking Moineau was a very distant relation or someone with an uncanny resemblance. It was disgusting, how much people would forgive their idols._

_It left Jack wondering how people could be so stupid, frankly. They were holding a viper to their bosom, as the hackneyed phrase goes. While he seemed like quite a fantastic person, he generally picked the pockets of the people who mobbed around him. Trying to save up for a ship, you see. If he could get a ship, he could get his _Pearl _back. That's all that mattered._

_Unfortunately, he couldn't stand it anymore. He'd only saved enough for approximately half of a decent sloop (depending on the day) and knew that he needed something substantially bigger to go after Barbossa. He needed more money. But he didn't care. _

"_You do realize that this will cause quite the sensation, don't you?"_

"_Of course I do," Jack replied simply, examining his fingernails as though they were the most interesting thing in the world. "Tha's the point."_

"_Oh." Kenneth glanced at Jack's fingernails as well. Kenneth was the other tenor who generally played the antagonist in the operas they preformed because his range was slightly lower and he wasn't as attractive as Jack. He was a good friend; one of the few opera "elite" Jack could actually stand to be around these days. Faith was far too jealous of his success amongst the ladies and was quite possessive of him; therefore, she was to be avoided. He liked to avoid her about as much as he liked to talk to Kenneth. Kenneth's greenish eyes suddenly were hit by inspiration and started glowing, accordingly. "That's why you put that scene in there, isn't it?"  
_

_Jack nodded. "Aye. Jus' make sure you actually load it. An' practice your shooting." He smiled lightly and looked at Kenneth for a moment. "Thank you."_

"_My pleasure, Jack," Kenneth replied. "You do realize you're brilliant, right? I mean, if you just let us do your opera a few times... you'll be rich."_

"_Can't stand this anymore." Jack frowned slightly. "I need t' get away from here. I'm not meant t' be a tenor or a lyricist or wha'ever the heck I am now. I'm a pirate."_

"_Simply said," Kenneth replied softly. "Thanks for all the help, though." Jack was more than simply a brilliant tenor. He had written the lyrics to an entire opera (not many existed) that was sure to fascinate audiences. Kenneth wrote the music, much to Jack's relief (he could barely read it) and had been with Jack every step of the way on this project. His plan was sure to make it that much more memorable, too._

_Jack didn't think the opera was all that good, but he did have a head for lyrics and had been able to give Kenneth a fairly rough melody to go off of when composing the music. Some thought it was natural talent, but Jack thought the only reason he could sing music at all was because of the song constantly in his head. Jack was very melodic because of his unusual stride and all of the trinkets jingling away in his hair. Kenneth had just helped him put all those swirling ideas in his head on paper._

_Jack shrugged slightly. "Tonight. Durin' the climax. Remember tha' you din' think it was loaded."_

_Kenneth nodded, looking quite worried. "Are you sure?" This was not only dangerous for Jack, but it was dangerous for Kenneth as well. He would have to pretend that he'd had no idea the gun was loaded, otherwise... Well, he didn't want to think about it._

"_Positive. I'll be fine." It really was probably true, that he'd be all right. Jack was able to survive a lot more than he really ought to, over the past few weeks. He'd gone through a self destructive mood for a bit. Kenneth had helped him then, too. He smirked slightly and grasped Kenneth's hand in a friendly manner for a moment. "Doin' me a real favor, you know."_

"_Yes." Kenneth smiled slightly. "But I don't think New Orleans wants to see you get antsy to leave. Besides... you introduced me to Neveah. It's the least I can do, to help."_

_Jack nodded. "Aye. Can't forget Neveah." He laughed softly. Neveah was one of his discarded flings, actually. But she and Kenneth seemed happy together, so he was glad they'd met. Another thing to be disgusted about himself over. Not only was he an opera singer, he was a lyricist, a lover, a nice guy, and a matchmaker. His mother would probably roll around in her grave, if she knew._

_Kenneth smiled and laughed softly back before standing up. "Well, I need to go and warm up. For tonight. It's going to be fantastic."_

"_Don't I know it?" Jack asked softly, laughing to himself. It would be. Everyone would be talking about Jack Moineau, after tonight. Pity he had to give up the name completely, but this was for the best. "Go warm up."_

_Kenneth nodded and stood, leaving Jack all by himself back stage. Jack watched him leave and then started pacing around, pausing every once in a while to touch some random piece of scenery. He didn't want to preform this. He didn't want to. No one in their right mind would like it. _The Precarious Pirate _wasn't interesting. And he would mess up all of his music. He'd hit a wrong note._

_As he was being assaulted by doubt, the door opened and a lovely women stepped back stage. "Jack?" she asked softly, gently tapping him on the shoulder as he paused._

_Jack jumped, startled by the sudden contact. "What?" he asked, regaining his normal calm and slightly stand-offish demeanor._

"_Are you all right?" Faith asked, glancing at him in concern. "You look like you did the first time you preformed in front of an audience."_

"_I'm fine," Jack said indifferently, gently brushing her hand off his shoulder. Faith was a nice woman. He didn't want her to think that he actually felt anything towards her. That would just be cruel. Jack hated men who gave women that notion._

"_Oh." She looked distinctly disappointed, but kept her distance. "Don't worry. It's brilliant."_

"_Thanks," Jack replied. There was a very awkward silence as Faith tried to show her love for him through her eyes. "I...uh... Shouldn't you be getting ready, luv? Wouldn' do any good if the leading lady wasn' in costume."_

_She sighed softly, her eyes shimmering slightly as she realized she'd been rejected long ago. "Yes. I'll... I'll go get dressed, then. Alone."_

"_Generally a good way t' get dressed," Jack said lightly, trying to keep that look out of her eyes. Jack didn't like seeing women get hurt. That's why he left so early in the morning, when he spent the night with them._

"_Yes," she said heavily, abruptly turning around and fleeing from his presence to prepare for tonight. There went her dreams of marrying her knight in armor._

* * *

"Lover-you finished yet?" Pâquerette asked, yawning to emphasize her boredom. She was lazing about up on the bridge of the _Phallic Destroyer_, looking quite bored as she watched Jack swab the deck all by himself. 

He didn't answer.

She frowned and set her wine goblet (full of the finest cognac) down. "Answer me," she commanded in a terribly low voice.

"Do I—no." Jack was losing his mind. He was so sick of doing her bidding all the time. It made him feel dirty. Like he wasn't himself anymore. These past two months of wedded "bliss" were starting to take their toll on him. He was getting thin and had a gaunt and haunted look to his face. It made him _almost_ look unattractive. Of course, the only way to make Jack Sparrow unattractive would be to cut his face completely off. But he was starting to fight her commands. For about three seconds. At least it was an improvement to his immediate obeying from before.

Pâquerette sighed and dropped her now-empty goblet down from the bridge onto the deck. It shattered into a thousand sharp and angry pieces. "I do wish you'd say more than one word, Jack. We _are_ married, after all. And you're stuck with me." She laughed slightly and pointed towards the broken shards on the deck. "Clean those."

Jack couldn't have said anything more if he wanted to, frankly. In a fit of anger last week, Pâquerette had told him not to speak so much. He had to listen to her. As a result, he could only give short answers. She probably didn't even realize it had been a direct command.

Jack nodded and smiled sarcastically at her (she couldn't sense sarcasm from him, one thing that cheered him considerably) and immediately went to clean up the goblet.

She'd been drinking a lot. Jack wondered why (for a bit) each day, since she finally had everything she wanted. Of course, rather than admit to the fact all was not well, she blamed it on her pregnancy when he asked her about it. While he hated Pâquerette, he didn't want to harm his child and was therefore concerned over her welfare. Drinking was never good for pregnant women and it was worrying Jack. Which was why he had a nasty cut on his cheek (a self-inflicted wound Pâquerette had ordered him to give himself to make him stop looking at her reprovingly while drinking some rum) and had a few bruises on his other cheek from slaps. That was definitely the last time he tried questioning what she was doing.

"Thank you, Jack," Pâquerette said with false sincerity as he tossed the glass overboard before she ordered him to do something that satisfied the sadist monster lurking under her deceptive good looks. He'd learned a lot, over these two months of "bliss."

"No problem," Jack very nearly grunted, going back to the holystone and picking up where he'd left off.

His situation seemed quite bleak, didn't it? That fiery devil would never let him go. He needed to divorce or kill her. Those were his only options. Divorce her with the help of the devil or something.

Anything.

Having no freedom at all was looming on Jack's horizon as Pâquerette gave him more and more rules to follow.

* * *

This was the only break he got, during the day. It wasn't even really that much of a break. He was still required to cook. But it was better than straining his back swabbing the already clean decks as Pâquerette's twisted crew watched him work. Why did they all hate him? He was a pretty liberal guy, actually. Treated women surprisingly well. They should be doing this to someone else. Why did it all have to happen to him? This put a serious wrench in the works of his plan to get a ship and go after Barbossa. A plan he'd had for nearly nine years, yes. But it was still a plan. Just like Jack generally never went back on a promise, he generally never went back on a plan. He would get the _Pearl_ back. He knew that. His will wouldn't let him give up, even though he had every reason to, at the moment. 

But Pâquerette didn't watch him, to make sure he cooked like he was supposed to. She knew he would. Which was very nice. Gave Jack a chance to think for himself without his wife telling him when to think. He'd go crazy, if he had to do that all the time.

He was sitting at one of the well polished tables (his handiwork) as he waited for the soup to cook. He'd get up every once in a while and would stir it, of course, because Pâquerette didn't like it when the food was burned. No one did like burned food, so Jack really couldn't get mad at her getting so mad at him. Well, that's what he wanted to tell himself. She'd throw it all away, even if it was only slightly burned. After throwing it in his face. That hurt, depending on what he was serving. Thankfully, he was a very good cook and didn't often burn what he was cooking or stewing or baking or whatever. 

"Why am I here?" he asked himself, thinking he was all alone in the galley. He generally was.

"Because you're a fool, Jack," a soft voice said from the corner. "That's why."

Something about that voice was very familiar. And he hadn't heard it in a very long time. Why was she here? And why hadn't he noticed here here before? "Always have been, though."

Jack nodded slightly. "Very true." Best not to let her know how much she was freaking him out. She couldn't really be here. She was still in New Orleans, right? Had been ever since he'd left. And she'd been doing very well, just like he'd predicted. She couldn't be here.

"Hello, Jack." She paused, obviously waiting for him to say something. He didn't. "You know, that's generally when you say hello back."

"Generally, yes." Jack smirked very slightly as he turned to face the woman that had been haunted by his face in her dreams for several years. "Faith."

"That's my name. Rather surprised you can remember it." She smiled sarcastically and slowly walked over to where he was sitting. "How did you?"

"I wouldn' be a fantastic pirate if I explained me secrets, luv." Jack shrugged apologetically. "So don' ask."

Faith bit her lip lightly for a moment and then shrugged herself. "I guess I can't demand an answer. You're a married man, now."

Jack choked back a laugh at that as he glanced down at the table. "Yeah. Only one who can demand anythin' is her."

"You deserve it, Jack." Faith's voice was incredibly bitter as she sat down across from him. "You deserve every little thing she does to you."

Jack sighed softly and stood up. "Nice t' hear that." He walked to the soup and stirred it slowly. "I mean, how would I make it through me day wivout learning I've ruined _another_ woman's life?"

Faith wasn't as dense as Pâquerette and could recognize sarcasm from Jack when she heard it. "Stop it."

"Not a chance." Jack set the ladle down after stirring the soup, taking his seat next to Faith again. "You're the one who started it, luv. An' I'm goin' t' be the one t' finish it."

"I didn't start anything, Jack! You were the one who left." Faith's eyes were glowing dangerously. It was either from tears she was trying to hide, or from anger. Jack couldn't decide which, but the latter seemed more likely, based on the cold intonation of her voice.

If she really wanted an argument, he'd be happy to give her one. "You were the one who cared. I'm a bloody pirate. Not meant t' be stuffed into those costumes."

She really had nothing to go against that statement. No rebuttal. Time to bring out a new argument. "Jack...you ruined my life!"

"Only because you thought more o' what we had than I did." Jack smiled sardonically.

"Because you gave me all the signals!" Faith put her hands on her hips, clearly getting ready for an actual fight.

"I gave 'em to everyone, if you din' notice. Any pretty li'le thing." Jack shook his head. "I din'..." He trailed off, deciding that was too nice a thing for him to say. He should be mad at this woman. For having the gall to track him down again.

"But you saved..." She choked off for a moment and had to rub at her eyes angrily. "You saved my life, Jack. I thought I meant more to you than that."

"You thought wrong," Jack said coldly, glancing at the door. He glanced back at her and seemed to soften. "I would've liked t' get t' know ye better, luv. But you took it too seriously. Too fast." He hadn't been this honest with a woman for years.

"I..." She was completely blown away by his honesty. Thrown off balance. Like a toddler.

"I 'ave t' take food up t' me wife, Faith. It was jus' _lovely_, talkin' t' ye again." He stood up and got himself a bowl of soup for his wife, leaving Faith to her suddenly very confused thoughts.

**

* * *

Zareen**: Of course I pity Jack! But he'll get out of it. No worries. Thanks for the review!  
**Daisy**: Well, he is married to a sadist. That's kinda not cool.  
Well, Erica don' 'ave homework anymore. An' she likes talkin' t' ye, despite what you think. An' maybe she needs a little worry in 'er life. Keeps her on her toes.  
**Sunkist3208**: Star Wars is pretty awesome. And the crazy ideas just come out of my head. I must be crazy. But that's okay! Thanks for the review!  
**Mystic Moon Maiden**: That's what I've read about the sequel, too. I can't wait. -dies of waiting-  
**CrazyPirateGirl**: Jack should listen to Diane. And he eventually will. Thanks for the review!  
**Eccentric Banshee**: Thanks for the review! And thank you very very much for the picture...everyone in Literature enjoyed it, whenever it was I showed it to them. Seems like ages ago.  
I'm a bit of a feminist, I must admit.  
Since you were the first to review, you get a cool handmade vase with fake flowers! Yay! 


	8. Chapter 7:Precarious Pirate & Paquerette

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be writing this, mate.

AN (2/14): Happy Single's Awareness Day! But that's totally irrelevant. I've decided to pick this story up again…just for my amusement. I really didn't stop writing when I wasn't updating…I was working on a story I hope one day to maybe get published…

Oh, and I'd like to thank Katie for giving me the inspiration about the thing…at the end. You'll see.

And…forgive me. I'm not a musician, nor a composer, nor anything remotely like that. I wrote some of the lyrics to the opera last summer, so…anyway, try to enjoy.

**Chapter Seven: The Precarious Pirate and Pâquerette**

_Ten minutes to show time. Jack hated this time, right before a performance. It seemed as though everything was going in slow motion while moving at an incredibly fast pace all at the same time. He seemed to be able to feel the world spinning slowly and it was making him rather nauseous. It didn't help that…well, he was about to do something that could kill him._

_Jack stood on stage on one of the wings, holding a pistol that was one of the numerous props for his ornate opera about a pirate who'd had enough. This particular pistol was to be Kenneth's prop for a vital scene in the opera that was truly the turning point for the antagonist, interestingly enough. Jack didn't like how stories always seemed to emphasize the plight of the protagonist and show the antagonist merely as a bad person…it was a quasi statement about his feelings on the matter of redemption. Pirates were not all inherently bad people; most of them had nothing else to turn to in the daily battle with death all poor faced. Stealing from the rich wasn't as wrong as stealing from the poor, as the rich did…_

_He slowly set the pistol down onto the portion of the table reserved for Kenneth. There was no sense in him thinking about what he was about to do; he just needed to do it before he lost his nerves. He was still the infamous pirate Jack Sparrow, after all, and spending a season singing opera shouldn't make him lose his nerve! He was just going to battle against a particularly mean and ugly pirate captain who wished to see him dead. This was practice for his inevitable meeting with Barbossa._

_Sighing softly to himself, Jack cleared the phlegm in his throat and reached for his own props. The show would be starting very soon and the others were already in their places. It was time for him to become a tragedy. No one in the opera house would ever forget the matinee of _The Precarious Pirate

_

* * *

The curtain opened for the final scene of the second act. Jack had taken special care while writing this particular part of the opera; it was meant to be the turning point of the antagonist and it was meant to shock audiences. The ending for the opera was almost too unbelievable, which was why Jack stuck this little scene in. Plus, it allowed just himself and Kenneth to be on stage at this particular time. That was a vital ingredient to his plan. Kenneth had thought it was merely a good scene, full of raw emotion. A climax, if you will. _

_Jack stood on stage right, dressed up as the typical pirate. He wore kohl, but that was only part of his stage makeup so that his adoring fans would be able to tell he had eyes. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a style favored by most laymen and pirates. He wore only two articles of clothing from his days of piracy, his hat and his bandanna. The rest of his eccentricities were tucked away in a knapsack that was part of his costume. Kenneth stood near him in the center of the stage. He was dressed as the typical pirate captain, complete with the large hat with an ornate feather. His costume was darker than Jack's, indicating that he was the villain of the story._

_There was an almost tangible tension between the two on stage. The audience were all watching avidly. They hadn't been to an opera this interesting for ages and were completely astounded by what had happened so far. It was clear this was already a success among the people of New Orleans. _

"_You crazy and deluded fool!" Kenneth sang with his voice full of emotion and admonition. He was quite into his part. He genuinely seemed to be angry with Jack. Jack might have been affronted if he didn't know that Kenneth was merely acting. He did seem like a formidable foe; if Kenneth were an actual pirate, he would be quite good at scaring the sailors of the ship he would attack._

"_You've no idea what I've been going through-"Jack rejoined. It was very obvious to him that he'd written these lyrics in an attempt to work out some of his own frustrations. The women had been turning boring and Faith had been getting rather clingy when he started writing this… Plus, he couldn't help but find himself on that godforsaken spit of land every time he thought of his past._

"_You were supposed to be in _my _crew." Kenneth took a step towards Jack and the audience seemed to all inhale at once. _

_Jack's character, Jonathan, was supposed to take a step towards Kenneth at this point. Jack really would've rather backed away, but he did what had been blocked. "I am done now."_

"_You can't give up, you can't give up. _I _won't let you!" Kenneth moved closer._

_Jack faltered for a moment before taking a step back. It was all choreographed, but the audience seemed surprised anyway until Jack took another step away, turning his back on Kenneth. "I am through with this! I am through with you!"_

_Kenneth laughed evilly as he took another step towards Jack. "If you will not join me, I will be through with you."_

"_You wouldn't dare to!" Jack sang as he turned to look at Kenneth again. This was homage to the deadly game that all pirates played each time they decided to become pirates. You couldn't turn your back on piracy. Once you made a pact with him, you couldn't turn away from it. It was your life, even if your life was meant to last only a year longer. The only way to escape piracy completely was to die. Jack had felt himself being hunted for the last little while._

"_I could." Kenneth's voice was cold and hard and it reminded Jack forcefully of Barbossa._

_However, Jack couldn't let the audience know that. Instead, he shook his head with a large gesture of indifference. "You wouldn't dare to!" he taunted._

"_I would." Kenneth pulled out his pistol and slowly cocked it. Jack could see slight worry in his friend's eyes. To counteract that, he nodded very slightly. Then Kenneth aimed the pistol at Jack's chest._

"_You couldn't." Jack smiled very slightly at Kenneth while his body appeared to recoil in horror. The audience seemed to be holding their breath, now._

"_I will." Kenneth looked very worried indeed to Jack. To the audience, he merely looked like an angry pirate with a gun. He shook his head slightly as he placed his finger on the trigger._

_Jack nodded quickly, encouraging Kenneth to do as he'd promised. "You…" He took an abrupt step backwards moments after the sound of a pistol discharging reverberated around the opera house, accompanied by the screams of adoring fans and proper ladies. A small speck of white hungrily spread out from his chest as Kenneth pulled the trigger again and Jack stepped back once more, his face white with pain. "did." He staggered backwards once more and then fell down to the stage, unmoving._

_Kenneth looked absolutely aghast as the curtains began falling. Jack had told him to shoot twice. The first shot was supposed to be the fake one and the second shot was the real one…but unless he was very much mistaken, both of those shots had been very real. The audience was wildly applauding. Most hadn't seen anything this exciting in their whole life. Many were on their feet because of how real it had seemed._

_Kenneth, however, motioned towards the man lowering the curtains and put his hands up. "Is anyone here a doctor?" he asked as he rushed to Jack's side. The pirate's white shirt was now stained crimson and he was barely breathing. When he kneeled over Jack and tore open his shirt, Kenneth realized just how close he'd come to shooting Jack in the heart. If his friend truly did survive this, it would be a miracle._

"_I am," a man conveniently seated on the front row said quickly, rushing up the stairs to Jack's fallen body. The audience seemed to sense that something serious had just happened, so they all fell to their seats. The "doctor" gave Jack a look over. "I'll be surprised if he survives this one," he said seriously as he looked to Kenneth. "But don't worry. All the more credence to his story." He winked at Kenneth and then said loudly, "Jack Moineau is dead."_

* * *

"Jack, why do _you_ look so unhappy?" Pâquerette asked softly, glancing up at Jack as she lay on her bed in the captain's quarters. Her vivid blue eyes seemed full of tears, making her seem a human rather than some demonic torturer. "You didn't even care," she accused, sniffling. 

"Yes I did," Jack objected, vainly trying to make her see what he meant. She'd just lost _their_ child, not just hers. Sure, he hadn't intended on being a father any time soon, but that creature inside the red demon's womb had been partly his. It had been the reason he'd been putting up with Pâquerette's antics for so long. And now it was gone. Jack felt as though the last six or so months of his life had been absolutely pointless. He was still trapped in the same place and manner he'd been trapped in after drinking that stupid cognac. And he had no plan for his escape. To make matters worse, he'd alienated a lot of the help he might have had from Faith…

"You did not!" Pâquerette insisted, spitting upon the floor. "You would rather I die than 'ave your child. I'm not stupid, Jack, I know that you do not love me." She sniffled again, sobs shaking her shoulders to the point that Jack vaguely hoped she'd fall apart.

"Of course I don't love you!" Jack said hastily, glad she'd finally seen the truth. "You're-"

"Shut up!" she yelled, striking his cheek. "You should love me, Jack Sparrow, as I am the only woman that is for you!" Her tears were now rapidly disappearing as anger enveloped her. "You need to learn how to love me!" There was a hard, cold look to her eyes as she pronounced his sentence: "Go out on deck and stand there, doing absolutely nothing, until you learn to love me!"

* * *

The sun was hidden behind several large clouds, making it quite a pleasant temperature in the normally blistering heat during the summer in the Caribbean. Jack had been standing on deck for the past few hours, doing absolutely nothing. A grim look was on his face, as he'd been wearing it when his loving wife had ordered him to do nothing. Things did not seem as though they could get any worse, mostly because his nose had started to itch a few moments ago and he was unable to move his hand to scratch it. As he stood there, a seagull overhead decided to bestow some good luck upon the degraded captain. He stood and watched, helplessly, as the white goop traveled down his forehead and dripped off his nose. Since it was such a large present, he didn't even have to cross his eyes to see it succumb to gravity down his face. 

As the material slowly worked its way down his face, he realized something. He could now get rid of his wife. The only reason he hadn't tried to do anything more than say a word or two against her was because of the baby. Providence, or Lady Luck, or fate or whatever you wanted to call it had given him the opportunity to get rid of something he loathed without suffering from conscience hiccups now and again. His child was dead and his wife no longer needed to continue to live. She'd been too cruel to him to merely request a divorce or annulment…the only way to be free again was to kill her. He felt like one of the marionette dolls he'd seen spoiled children play with. Pâquerette was controlling nearly every aspect of his life, just like the way those children controlled practically every move their puppets made. He wasn't free to think for himself, really, because he was always at her beck and call. This punishment was meant for him to learn how much he was supposed to love her, but it was impossible for Jack to love anyone who felt they had the right to steal his freedom from him. In a way, it was poetic justice, the fact that he'd been forced to marry a woman who domineered his life after spending all those years and nights with women, using them to fulfill his own desires.

The more Jack thought of it, while trying to relieve the itching on his nose without thinking too much of the trail of foul fecal material down his face, the more he realized that this sort of imprisonment was infinitely worse than the time he'd watched Hector Barbossa sail away on his ship. There seemed to be no way out and he couldn't even off himself. He had no friends aboard the _Phallic _Destroyer. In fact, at times, they seemed envious of their captain. What woman wouldn't want a man who couldn't think or protest or do anything but fulfill their every desire? Jack just hoped that other women weren't able to make the same sort of pact as his 'beloved' wife. Otherwise, well, men of the world were in for a life of absolute hell.

After the large present finally hit the deck, Jack realized he needed to change his tactics. He'd been so stubborn and stupid, he'd forgotten the best way to handle women! It seemed ridiculous he hadn't thought of this before, actually. His eyes smiled and his lips appeared ready to turn into a grin at any moment for the remainder of his sentence.

Pâquerette had calmed considerably during their time apart and had invited him back into the cabin, clearly anxious for some sort of physical contact. She'd lost a part of her, a thing that would've become something spectacular if only she hadn't miscarried. Her despair was incomprehensible to a man and she felt she needed Jack to try and drive all of the emotions swirling in her mind away. So, she'd been more than happy when he came back and passionately kissed her, convinced he'd finally learned his lesson. "Jack," she murmured softly. "You've learned!"

* * *

About an hour after Jack had placated Pâquerette, his plan was complete. She was asleep, peacefully, wrapped in her silk sheets with an angelic look on her face, as she thought her troubles were at an end. She believed that Jack had finally learned to appreciate her, especially after that wonderful time together. There was no reason for her to feel anxious in his presence. She'd ordered him not to shoot her or stab her with a knife and had removed anything that could be used as a weapon from their shared cabin. 

Jack held one of her corsets in his hands, however, and was rapidly cutting the whalebone out of it. Corsets, while constricting, also strove to correct a woman's posture by making her back as straight as possible. They often included whalebones, shaved down to size, to help a woman appear the correct way. Pâquerette's vanity suffered whenever she wasn't wearing the latest fashions in Paris, which was why she bothered wearing a corset at all. The rest of her crew generally only had stays. But it was the perfect weapon. Jack had a knife that he could use for cooking and, since Pâquerette had never expressly forbidden him, sharpening.

Once the corset was ripped apart and the shining white whalebone in his hands, Jack took his knife and slowly started to sharpen it to enough of a point to get through her skin. She slept angelically during the entire procedure, too exhausted physically, emotionally, and mentally to hear Jack curse when he accidentally slipped and cut his hand with the blade.

His task complete, Jack set the knife down, slowly crept over to the bed, and looked down at her with outright hatred in his eyes. She had tormented his life for far too long and no part of him felt anything resembling remorse as he plunged the bone into her black heart, surprised to find that she actually did have human blood running in her veins. She didn't stir as the bone hit her chest and smashed through her heart, retaining the deceptively angelic look on her face until life disappeared. He stabbed her a few more times for good measure.

Once he was sure she was dead, Jack grabbed the whalebone, his effects, and his pistol, rushing out of the cabin like a madman. His white shirt was stained with blood, her blood, but he couldn't get rid of the euphoria he felt as he finally escaped his tormentor and felt freedom again. It was sweet, freedom. The only thing that could have made it better would be to have his prized _Pearl_ back. Feeling on top of the world, he rushed to the longboats to make his escape and begin forgetting the _Phallic Destroyer_ and his demon tormentor. He was now single and just himself.


End file.
